All Wo-rk and No Play: An Abyssal's Trials in the Job Market
by PhyrricSteel
Summary: The Jellyfish Princess' fleet has been crushed, a joint task force scouring Bikini Atoll and freeing Saratoga from the clutches of the Abyss. In their hurry to withdraw, however, they left the Abyssal CFS Trinitite, a Wo-class Carrier with no allies and an armada of questions.
1. One Lucky Missile

Things had been going so well, too.

In a way, _CFS Trinitite_ had been relieved when one of _CFS Firestorm's_scouting aircraft spotted the enemy fleet. The Firebringers had been hitting the Princess's throne for weeks now, forcing her to abandon it and putting the Crossroads Fleet on edge. The incoming fleet was worrying, but it meant that things were going to be resolved, one way or another.

"_So… you've reached this place..._"

They were outnumbered. The fleet steaming in from the northwest contained 6 carriers, while between Trinitite's sisters and The Princess herself, they could only answer with four. However, the comforting layer of fog that blanketed The Princess's abode concealed her comrades, breaking up the enemy's strikes without firing a shot. For the first few hours of the battle, it seemed the invaders would either find themselves driven off or at the bottom of the sea.

Then the rockets hit.

Trinitite was halfway through launching another bomber strike when one of her Bearcats detected a flicker of movement below. It was too fast to be an airplane, and nothing that small was one of The Firebringers…

It detonated right above her deck, peppering the Wo-class with supersonic shrapnel. If the missile- its payload insufficient to damage her deck on its own- had arrived at any other time, its shrapnel would have been absorbed by her deck and she would barely notice. The six fully fueled and armed bombers on her deck, however, weren't nearly as well-protected. A shard of the rocket's casing, traveling just under Mach 3, cut through one of waiting hell dive bombers like wadded-up paper and into the high-explosive bomb slung underneath.

Half of the Carrier's strike evaporated as Trinitite was engulfed in a fireball, the shockwave tearing one of the launching Hell Divers off her catapult and sending it spinning into the sea. The explosion shattered the Wo-class's bridge, tearing through her command crew before She'd fully comprehended what had happened. Like a fuse had been blown, the light in Trinitite's eyes disappeared and the blast knocked the abyssal out. With that, a fourth of the Crossroads Fleet's carrier division was disabled, fires scouring the unconscious Abyssal as she wallowed in the Atoll's subdued waves.

* * *

_Bridge Casualties stabilized. Command re-established._

CFS Trinitite could have been out for minutes, or maybe hours. One moment, she had been launching bombers, the next her bow was buried in one of the Atoll's sand bars.

_Fires extinguished. Assessing damage to the flight deck and superstructure._

She groaned, raising a hand to her burned deck. The pain that had up until now been unnoticed flared, and with a sharp inhale the Carrier removed her hand. Groaning, Trinitite rolled onto her back, allowing herself further onto the beach. Was it… brighter then it had been previously?

_A good portion of the flight deck is missing. 1 catapult is still operational, and we still have functional arresting gear, but there isn't much deck in between them._

_We've kept the damage in the hangar low, but there's significant warping around the both elevators. If you want any of the aircraft inside, you'll have to re-assemble them topside. _

Ignoring the horde of damage reports flooding her bridge, Trinitite propped herself up on her elbows and directed her attention to the battle around her.

There, not more than 600 yards in front of her, floated an enemy battleship.

_Fire director's damaged. If you shift a few degrees starboard we might be able to get one of the remaining secondaries to bear, but I can guarantee you won't hit anything._

The Wo-class froze, eyes locked onto the behemoth that had barged into the bay. The Titan's eight massive cannons, each enough to break her on their own, were facing away from her, thank the deep, but she had plenty of company. The battleship's firepower was doubled in a sister ship, and surrounded by a trio of enemy cruisers and several destroyers. The mass of firepower that had entered the bay was overwhelming, and all of it was aimed at one point.

"_Maybe… maybe this is a good thing…_"

She always spoke so softly, but still Her Princess's words carried to her. Trinitite's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of her leader, the Hime battered and burning in the center of the enemy's fleet. The rest of the Crossroads Fleet was nowhere to be seen, but Trinitite knew her princess hadn't been abandoned. They had been forced to fight through every ship in the fleet to get to her, except for one.

"Mother…" Trinitite tried to call out, but what should have been a strong message of encouragement came out as a raspy whisper.

_Radio array is thrashed. We won't be transmitting anything today. _

The enemy battleship must have said something, but Trinitite was too far to make out her words.

"_With this knowledge, I can at last sleep… What?_"

_Air contact, bearing 043._

Trinitite hadn't noticed the sound of the helicopter's rotors until it had almost passed her. The massive thing briefly blocked out the sun (when had that been so visible through their mist?), turbulence sending ocean spray over Trinitite as it barreled past her. At the last moment, the ungainly thing's nose jerked upwards, and it began to lower. Another one of the enemy's ships- a carrier- bailed into the water.

"_Lexie?_"

That… wasn't the tone of voice Trinitite would have expected in this situation, and the shock was enough to keep her on the beach, watching. She… Mother knew one of them?

The enemy carrier rushed towards The Princess, shouting something Trinitite couldn't determine. The Wo-class almost attempted to stand, but the attempt was forgotten as the two carriers collided. Were… _were they hugging?_

No. The blast must have knocked something serious loose, because there was no way her princess could have known one of the enemy that well. She'd said so herself, when she was talking about the old times. That the fire-bringers had destroyed her to prove that her daughters were obsolete. That her failure to stand up to their weapons meant that her kin were doomed in this new kind of warfare. Trinitite had inspected the wrecks of Mother's fleet herself!

What was going on?

The Wo-class, mouth wordlessly opening and closing like a suffocating fish, could do nothing but stare into the bay as the two carriers sobbed into each other's shoulders.

"_But… you're dead. I failed you… The Air Force, it-_"

The other carrier cut Trinitite's princess off, and held her by the shoulders at arm's reach. How often had The Princess done the same to Trinitite? Was she… attempting to comfort her? From her binoculars, the Wo-class could see tear-streaks marring The Princess's face, but that smile Trinitite knew so well had returned. She… didn't know what was going on anymore. How could they act so familiar after wiping out the Crossroads Fleet?

Trinitite blinked, wiped her eyes with her hand, and took another look at her princess. Yes, the crest on her chest was undoubtedly glowing. What did that mean? It was obscured when the other carrier drew her into a second hug, but returned with force as the glow spread across her body. CFS Trinitite was forced to look away as the glow intensified, blotting out the forms in the bay and surpassing the sun in its intensity. Shielding her eyes, Trinitite was reminded of Her Princess's descriptions of The Fire. Had the enemy carrier snuck one of those weapons on board while they were hugging? No, the enemy was many things, but suicidal was not one of them.

The glow suddenly abated, and Trinitite tried to get another look at her princess before her mind came to an abrupt halt.

Cropped, red hair. Tight-fitting, buttoned dress. Sand-colored skin. _Like one of them._

_What had they done to her?_

* * *

**Here's something that I threw together on SB, and it seems to be doing moderately well, so I figured you folks might enjoy it. I plan on throwing up two updates here for every one I do on SpaceBattles and Sufficient Velocity, as I'm doing a proofreading pass on every chapter before posting it here and going through the entire story seems a bit too much. It shouldn't take long for you guys to catch up, though.**


	2. Finding a Purpose

_CFS Trinitite_ had always hated the sun. It reminded the carrier of her time spent outside of The Princess's protective haze, where she couldn't trust nearby fleets and the threat of raiders bore down on her. She missed the fog that took the edge off the sunlight, filtering out the worst of its' rays and tickling her skin as a reminder of home.

Except she was home. When the enemy had done that… _thing_ to Her Princess, the blinding light had scoured Bikini atoll of its protective haze. Now, the sun's rays beat down on Trinitite's hull, irritating the burns on her deck even further. Seeing the entire bay- along with the remains of its defenses and fleet- certainly didn't make things better.

…Perhaps she should drop the CFS prefix.

While making her way into the former resort that had become the Crossroad Fleet's ground facilities, Trinitite stumbled upon her sister. The lifeless eyes of her _CFS Hypocenter_ peered past her, while a look of faint shock had been frozen onto her face. Whatever had tossed her onto land must have thrown her headgear elsewhere, while large portions of her hull seemed to be missing. Some kind of magazine detonation, then. As Trinitite carefully stepped around her sister's corpse, she wondered if she'd shared her late sister's expression when the human rocket had struck her.

The enemy had practically ignored the base on Bikini island, leaving even the obvious abyssal modifications in pristine condition. That meant Trinitite would have plenty of fuel to go… somewhere. The menial and familiar task of filling her bunkers allowed the Wo-class to ignore the gaping hole in her deck, and if it wasn't for that damnable sun she could have pretended that her life hadn't fallen apart.

The Abyssal's mood soured further when she reached the base's drydocks. Usually, a drydock would signal its availability with a hum with power and malevolence, a clear sign that its crew was ready for another job. Now, the uninspiring pools of water sat desolate, dead as surely as rest of the Crossroads Fleet was. If Trinitite stripped and dove into waves of the Pacific, she would get just as much help.

Resigned, Trinitite stepped back into the ocean, screws engaging as she left the base behind her. The enemy had wasted no time in Bikini Atoll once they had gotten to Her Princess. With the Crossroads Fleet shattered and their supplies in pristine condition, she couldn't fault their judgement. Soon, like a horde of spider crabs around a sunken corpse, the surrounding abyssal fleets would close on Bikini Atoll and strip it of anything remotely useful.

Anger flared inside of her at the thought. Her Princess had been frank in responding to the demands their "allies" would send to her: If the humans had truly considered the fleets of the Abyss a threat, they would have scoured them from the face of the ocean with Their Fire. Some day, their little crusade would wipe them out, and the Crossroads Fleet wasn't going to help them earn obliteration.

An exception had been the Supply Depot Princess, who had been reasonable enough to earn a few favors from the Crossroads Fleet, but even she hadn't transmitted a word when not one but two human fleets sailed into the heart of abyssal territory to smash the Crossroads Fleet. Who were they to reap all the resources Her Princess had earned? They _deserved _a torpedo in their keel for betraying their sister, and now they were going to be _swimming_ in the fuel and ammunition the Crossroads Fleet had gathered! This bounty of supplies was the only thing The Fleet had ventured outside the Atoll to get, otherwise content to leave their allies to their own business.

The Wo-class found herself turning back towards her former home. Before she left, she had some unfinished matters to attend to.

* * *

Trinitite was running out of time. One of her lookouts had spotted a hell diver overhead, meaning someone was scouting out Bikini Atoll for an incoming fleet. This would have to do.

The Wo-class aircraft carrier sighed, laying the bag of 14-inch shell propellant snug against the base's avgas bunker. She hadn't covered the entirety of the base with explosives from its magazines, but she'd gotten everything she cared about. Whatever bitch was about to make her move on Bikini could have the drydocks. Trinitite snapped a valve off the endangered avgas tank, allowing the vapor to drift across her former base as she took her leave.

Her fire director really _was_ broken. It took 3 salvos from her remaining secondaries before something was caught in the blasts, and even then the detonation only covered the base's magazine. Disappointing, but perhaps not all the damage she had done. There were open flames, as well as plenty of gas vapor. Eventually, the former would meet the latter and chemistry would finish Trinitite's job for her. It would have to do. The Carrier turned, allowing what was left of her life to burn down behind her.

Where now?

Even if the scout plane hadn't reported what she'd done to its superior, and even if she could bring herself to, Trinitite couldn't really ally herself with another one of the Princesses. Many would probably execute her to tie up loose ends, and those who didn't would probably find it more cost-effective to scrap her and summon an entirely new carrier. In theory, the warping around her flight deck could be repaired, but the time it would take wouldn't be worth it for even the most elite carriers, and Trinitite didn't exactly have an impressive service history. That didn't leave her with much, did it?

The image of what Her Princess had become still lingered in her mind. The waves of red hair, the white dress, and that same subdued smile Trinitite had known for years. She was still out there, somewhere. She had changed, yes, boarding the human helicopter and leaving with the rest of the enemy fleet, but by how much? Had the enemy completely erased the Princess she once knew, replacing it with a carrier that only resembled her Mother? Or was she still in there, somewhere?

She needed to know.

As the Wo-class carrier cruised north, she started riffing through her charts. Who did Her Princess say built her? Right. The Eastern Enemy, this "United States." In order to get there, she would have to cruise… northeast, before threading the Midway and Wake Princess's territories and taking an easterly course to the large continent there. Even allowing for combat maneuvers as well as the general zig-zagging she would have to practice to avoid submarines, she would have enough fuel. If she could slip the enemy's patrols, she could disappear into the vast tracts of land on the continent, safe from patrolling destroyers and using the vegetation to hide from enemy aircraft.

She… wasn't sure where to go from there, but Trinitite figured she could think of something after "slipping their patrols" had been taken care of. That would be tricky enough, without having to worry about what came next.


	3. Interlude: Petty Mercy

On an intellectual level, the Midway Princess knew things were going well for her. She wasn't under any real threat, the self-absorbed defeatist in the south had been crushed by the two human fleets, and now the combined fleet was surrounded by Abyssal forces. Even if the enemy fleet got out of their trap, they would have an empty set of islands a more useful princess could set up on.

If everyone had actually _followed _the plan she had set up, then she might have been enjoying herself. The enemy fleet, no matter how large, should be getting battered into the sea by waves of abyssal aircraft, flowing from every point on the compass. They weren't.

"_Oh, it's a good thing I'm never going to see those idiots face-to-face._" The Princess ranted, pacing in front of her second. "_I don't think I could control myself in front of those impulsive whelps._"

The Ta-Class battleship, who needed no name other than 'Second,' nodded, but otherwise stayed silent.

"_I thought I was pretty clear when I layed out an order of battle. The fleets from Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro were to chase the enemy, harassing them from behind while you intercepted them. Nowhere in my plans did I state that everyone in the Marshall Islands should drop everything and start pointing guns at each other!_"

Now, with a three-way standoff over the supply cache the enemy had left on Bikini, getting a combined fleet from the Marshalls before the enemy left Midway's effective combat range was all but impossible. An entire plan, ruined because of some boxes.

"_At least I could _count_ on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative._"

There was no point in sortieing her fleet, now. The Central Princess's island was still contested, and without support from the Marshalls she wouldn't be willing to risk forces in a battle. No Oahu fleet meant no Kauai fleet and no Johnston Fleet. Alone, her own force would be overwhelmed. She was still hammering the enemy with her wing of liberation bombers, but by flying above the enemy's CAP hit rates would be pathetic. The decisive battle she had been dreaming of since the moment the strategic bombers had started hitting Bikini had evaporated before it could truly form.

_Incoming message. It has Enewetak's code Prefix._

The Princesses' pacing came to an immediate halt. What, exactly, would one of those failures from The Marshalls want to say to her? An apology, perhaps?

ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH

MOVING BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY

TRAITOR WO-CLASS

DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK

DEPLETED AIR WING

SABOTAGED SUPPLIES NECESSARY FOR WAR EFFORT

It took a moment for Midway to decode the statement, then decipher what the idiot was actually telling her. The "supplies necessary for War Effort" were obviously the cache on Bikini, while the only way an Abyssal could have taken damage like that...

Midway couldn't contain herself. A giggle forced its way past her lips as the Abyssal's rant was firmly derailed. The Ta's facade of stoicism shattered as the battleship jumped away from the princess as the giggle escalated to a hearty laugh, shock plastered across her face.

Seeing the look on her second, the Midway Princess brought her mirth under control, placing a hand on the battleship's shoulder to steady herself. This was the first genuine laugh she'd experienced in memory.

"_So, the cache of supplies that was apparently _so important_ they had to fuck my plan over?_" The Ta nodded. "_It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north._"

The look of shock disappeared, and the Ta smiled back at her leader.

"_Exactly. I don't know what's better: That the Marshall's betrayal blew up in their face so quickly, or that they'd think, after all they've done to me, that I'd do any favors for them._"

It was impressive, in a way.

"So…" The Ta-Class piped up, finally finding her voice. "What do you want me to do?"

"_Stay here._" The Midway Princess replied, turning from the battleship. "_I have a _real_ fleet to bomb._"

* * *

Have a short interlude. This is where I start trying to include more comedy in this fic, and maybe the one where I made the most changes from the KC thread.


	4. Look at me: Wo's the Captain now

A high layer of clouds hung above the ocean, a soft blanket that reduced the sun's glare without truly darkening the sky. The moderate sea chopped and slapped at The Fishing Trawler's hull, a steady metronome that lulled her crew into their routine. It was a lovely day.

For besieged island nations like England and Japan, fishing was a vital to a nation's survival. Fishing missions were of military import, guarded jealously, and the humble fisherman was a celebrated hero.

None of that applied to the Oregonian Fishing Trawler _Pacific Lilly_. She, along with her crew, were out there because fishing was their way life, and they weren't going to allow some angry ghost ships change that. The Pacific's navies would prefer it if she wasn't there, and the majority of the people on the mainland thought her crew were a special kind of crazy, but they also hadn't experienced perfect days like this, where she was reminded why fishing was one of mankind's oldest professions.

The skyrocketing price for cod and other ocean-dwellers helped, as well.

_Pacific Lilly_ loved her job, and she could say with certainty that her skipper would agree with her. Fred Kelly grew up at sea, and was a man who lived and breathed fishing. His crew had total trust in him, and while he'd gained a reputation for straying particularly far from shore, their results couldn't be argued with. The closer to Abyssal Territory, the more pronounced the recent boom in sea life was, which meant a shorter trips and a higher income. With news of some kind of battle keeping the abyssals in the central pacific busy, Pacific Lilly found herself venturing deeper than ever.

"_Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over._" The VHF crackled, and Her Captain let out an audible sigh. Ever since the start of the war, the government had been flooding the Navy, Coast Guard, and even the Civil Air Patrol with look-down radar aircraft. Against the weirdness that surrounded shipgirls and abyssals, the powerful radar sets they sported were only useful in the hands of a skilled operator. There weren't many of those.

In the last three months, _Pacific Lilly_ had been diverted around four random shipgirl patrols and eight anomalies that turned out to be nothing at all. The aircraft with the "Peregrine" call-sign, in particular, had been bothering them all along this voyage, even reporting that they had diverted to follow the trawler out 'for security purposes.' She would have been thankful if it hadn't been accompanied by almost constant bitching over the VHF.

"Peregrine, this is Lilly, over." Captain Kelly replied, resigned to another verbal browbeating from the government aircraft.

"_Peregrine, continue on Two-Two, over._"

_That_ got the bridge crew's attention. The aircraft that was following them wouldn't send any of its 'recommendations' over a reserved safety channel. More likely than not, it would be another false alarm, but out this far…

"Copy, Two-Two, out." Kelly keyed off the radio, hand darting to adjust the VHF perhaps a little too quickly. "Peregrine. Lilly."

"_Lilly, this is Peregrine. Uh… we're picking up one Alpha-Sierra contact, cruiser profile, thirteen miles from your location, should be bearing 247 for you._"

"Didn't the weather-heads say these clouds were natural?" Pacific Lilly's sonar technician interjected, looking up from her scope and grabbing a pair of binoculars. "If it isn't a false alarm, I should be able to see it."

"_Repeat, one cruiser profile Alpha-Sierra, thirteen miles, 247, over._"

"Go ahead." Kelly nodded, keying the radio as the sailor left. "Thanks for the heads up, Peregrine. We're diverting now, over."

As Pacific Lilly began to veer starboard, the trawler started scanning the south-western horizon. If something as big as a cruiser was bearing down on them, it should be just visible over the-

_There_

The technician slammed the hatch open, eyes wide.

"Holy shit, Skipper! He's right! There's a bridge, sticking just over the horizon!"

"Peregrine, We have a confirmation on that Abyssal." To his credit, Captain Kelly kept his voice even as he made perhaps his last report. "We'll keep you updated, over."

"_Copy that Lilly. I'll try and get some help to you, o-_"

Peregrine's statement suddenly died in a wave of static. The noise flooded the ship's bridge, causing everyone inside to flinch visibly as the new transmission overwhelmed the aircraft's.

"_**-̶̷̵-̵̀͡͝-̡̧̀҉-̴̴̀-̛͢͞n͘t҉io͢n̡ -̴̀-͟i҉den̛t̢i-̸̷̕íe͢d͟ v͝-̴͟-̴̧͞͝-̸̕̕҉̛e̕l҉.̵ ̢Sl-̴̡-̵͟-҉̧͝d͜ow̷ń ̛a-̧́͘d̨ ͡p͝-͘-̸͟-͏҉-̶̡̡̀͢re҉̶ ̸̢̡-̸̸́̀͟or͢ ҉b̴-̵͘-̶̕͟͡r̸d͝in̕g͜-̶̷́͠-͏̴-̷̀͘͢-̸ȩr̶.**_"

As the wave of static washed over them, silence filled the bridge. The otherworldly message echoed in their minds, the crew continued to stare at each other. Finally, the sonar technician spoke up.

"What the hell was that?"

* * *

This… this was dumb.

As CFS Trinitite neared human territory, she felt herself getting more and more desperate. An unescorted aircraft carrier, with no way to launch and rearm more than two or three aircraft at a time, was vulnerable to just about anything she could run into. If she wanted to get to the mainland, she was going to have to get very creative. She'd spotted her target half an hour ago, the one aircraft she'd managed to launch keeping the fishing trawler in sight as she racked her brain on what to say to it.

"Attention unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."

Trinitite wasn't entirely happy with the repairs to her radio, so blasting the thing at maximum power seemed like the only way to guarantee the message got across. Tuning the damaged transmitter was also difficult, even after picking up on what frequency the fishing boat was speaking at. It wasn't like she had anyone to test it with, either. Still, she had been spotted, and although she was fairly confident her sleek hull would catch up with the ungainly trawler, there was no telling when a warship would intercept them. No point wasting time, then. A few seconds passed. Then, half a minute.

"Attention, unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."

No change.

Suppressing the frustration welling in her heart, she keyed the radio again.

"Unidentified vessel. Can you hear me?"

More silence. The fishing boat had just been talking to _someone_, but now it had gone completely silent.

"Unidentified vessel. You were conversing with another party earlier, I know your radio is functional."

"_Abyssal. Your transmitter seems to be mis-tuned, over._"

Of course. Her plan hadn't even gotten past step one and she'd already screwed it up. She couldn't do anything right, could she?

* * *

"_Uni̷den̶tífie̷d Vessel. Does this work better?_"

Pacific Lilly never expected one of those things to be trying to talk with her, but if she was asked to try, she wouldn't have expected the first portion of the conversation to be wasted on technical issues.

"This is Lilly to Abyssal Vessel." Captain Kelly responded, his gaze locked on the approaching monster "...we can hear you, over."

"_I see._" The abyssal responded. As the carrier (Peregrine had misidentified the signature, to no one's surprise) gained on them, its form started to make itself clear. The thing towered above Pacific Lilly, guns angrly poking from around its flat surface. The thing's superstructure, barely visible, seemed to be alive with movement- although when the fishing trawler focused she couldn't make out anyone on board. The deep paint and varnished wood that covered the warship transformed the ship into a dark blot on the ocean, but as it neared them the Fishing Trawler got the impression that it wasn't made of wood and steel at all- just a convincing impression. Like an alien got detailed plans to a warship, but didn't actually know what one looked like.

Yet impossibly, in the same time and space, the ship took the form of a woman, gliding across the water. The humanoid was only slightly taller than Pacific Lilly's sonarman, although her crew's practical clothing made it difficult to compare their actual proportions. Growths of teeth and metal decorated her form, to the point where the fishing trawler wasn't sure what was being worn, and what had burst from her skin like some kind of science-fiction parasite. They left her mostly exposed, but her modesty was almost preserved by a form fitting bodysuit, the same color as her pale skin. From the distance Pacific Lilly couldn't make out what it actually covered, so similar was it in texture and shade to its deathly-white skin.

"_Attention, fishing trawler Lilly. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over._"

Dead silence.

"Board us?" The sonar technician started. "What can they do? Do they have crew?" Captain Kelly didn't respond, instead activating the VMF.

"I'm sorry Abyssal vessel, will you repeat that, over?"

"_Lilly,_" The abyssal started. Up until this point, the monster had been fairly brisk and stoic, but now that familiar undercurrent of anger she'd heard about was presenting itself. "_you said you could understand me just fine, over._"

"Abyssal Vessel, I copy. However, I'll need a guarantee you won't harm any of my crew, over."

"_Lilly, if I wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be talking._" As if to accentuate the point, something appeared from within the clouds, gliding in lazy circles as it descended towards the carrier. "_Slow down or you _will_ see your people 'harmed'. Over._"

* * *

As if to capitalize on the day's embarrassments, they had to throw Trinitite a rope to get her aboard. With her rigging out, she would break the green-hulled ship into splinters if they met. Without her rigging, she'd quickly get carried away by the ocean currents, helpless until she resummoned her engines. She supposed she could use her strength to punch a hole in the trawler's hull, using that as a hand-hold to climb aboard, but compromising her only ticket to the mainland seemed like a bad idea.

The rope they threw Trinitite seemed solid enough. The carrier dismissed her rigging before hauling herself up, her most painful damage dissolving into the breeze. Now a dull ache in the back of her mind, Trinitite knew it wouldn't go away, but she could ignore it for now. Hopefully they hadn't gotten a good enough look to realize her compromised state.

With flushed cheeks and thin lips, the embarrassed carrier hauled herself up the trawler's side. At least they allowed herself to do it on her own power.

The deck was empty, save two sailors in heavy clothing that concealed their figure. One was already hauling the rope back up, while the other stood in front of her, defiant.

"Welcome aboard." The man said, his tone making it clear he didn't mean it.

Trinitite took a moment to clear the hair from her face, purposefully ignoring the man as she tried to think of something to say.

"You're the Captain?" _Idiot. Of course he is._

"I am." He replied, straightening his shoulders.

"Good." She started, mentally preparing the line she'd practiced. "Take me to The United States."

Whatever the human was expecting, it clearly wasn't that.

"I'm sorry?"

"I need you to take me to The Mainland." Trinitite repeated, before walking past the human and towards the ship's bridge. Had she messed it up? English was the only language she knew, but what if the land-dwellers spoke a different form of it? She'll just have to find a chart and point the location out. The Captain wordlessly followed behind her, his steps slow and hesitant at first, but quickening as the human caught up to her.

"_Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. The Alpha-Sierra just dropped off our scopes, were you really boarded, over?_"

Besides the radio, the bridge was silent. Three sets of eyes followed Trinitite as she made her way inside.

"_Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over._"

There was the third party. Not only was the Pacific Lilly picking up on transmissions Trinitite couldn't, the clarity of the transmission was astounding. Were human radios that much better? Before she'd realised it, the Abyssal found herself approaching the radio.

"_Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. What is your status, over?_" No one made a move to counter her as she reached for the device.

"Peregrine, this is Lilly." Trinitite stated, bringing what she assumed to be the mic up to her face. "I'll be borrowing this ship. If you want it and its crew back, you'll have to leave it alone for a while. Out."

With that, she reached for the radio's volume dial and spun it to zero. She'd debated silencing the radio, but figured negotiating with the enemy would only give them intelligence to work with. Plus, that meant she wouldn't have to talk to anyone else.

She turned, coming face-to-face with the enemy Captain.

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true…

"Well?"

"They'll want proof we're alive." The Captain said, his eyes unflinching as he met hers. Was he always this intense?

"I don't see how that's a problem. They'll see people on the deck, yes?"

"Okay." The Captain replied, breaking their stare to take a seat. Trinitite wasn't sure if she'd convinced him, or if he didn't care to push the issue. "Shall we get going?"

"Do so."

As the ship accelerated, Trinitite found an open chair and took an opportunity to relax. That was her biggest issue, taken care of. After she snuck off the trawler and made a dash to the mainland, she could find her Princess!

How big could this 'United States' be, anyways?

* * *

**I'm wondering how much time I want to dedicate to the _Pacific Lilly_\- it's the first opportunity I have to start messing with the kind of comedy I'm focusing on, but I'll have plenty of other opportunities in the future. Expect next snippet to be another interlude, though, were I take a moment to check on our damsel in distress and introduce this story's antagonist...**


	5. Interlude: Meanwhile

With the threat of abyssal submarines lurking below them and the Midway Princess' aircraft looming above, the deck of the _USS John F. Kennedy_ was alive with activity. Sailors in jumpsuits of all colors scurried across the deck, waving and signaling to each other in a manner one might interpret as an intricate dance. An aircraft on one of the catapults, sleek and angular like an arrowhead, lurched forwards, leaping off the deck without a puff of steam. A prop-driven airplane, the size of a C-47 and carrying some kind of massive dish, skidded to a halt on the deck and started folding up its giant wings.

It was a symphony of roaring engines and spinning rotors, and the aircraft carrier Saratoga couldn't tear her eyes away from it.

"So… this is Langley's legacy."

The words came out in a whisper, drowned out by the noise below. The carrier (woman? shipgirl?) stood in the _Kennedy's _island, ignored by the busy sailors around her. Besides those seriously damaged in the battle with… her… Saratoga was the only carrier who wasn't out there, launching aircraft and contributing to the fleet's defense. Anywhere else on the _Kennedy_, the fact that she was doing so (_again_) would be driving her up the wall, but out here…

A sudden tap on her shoulder sent the carrier jumping, spinning to face the presence behind her. If she had yelped in surprise, it was lost in the roar of engines below. From the smug look on the man standing behind her, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Regaining her composure, Saratoga glanced at the officer's name tag.

"Lieutenant Murray?" Saratoga asked, recalling several jokes and stories she'd heard since she had… _recovered_. One of the masterminds behind the operation to rescue her. The Spook who'd lock himself in a room with nothing but intercepted transmissions and a notepad to keep him company. 'ONI's Abyssal Guy.'

He shouted something, pointing to his helmet ear protection.

Right. The noise.

Once a closed hatch was between the pair and the active flight deck, the officer ripped his helmet off, turning to the carrier.

Saratoga would describe the man as… average. Besides his older blue uniform, the man didn't particularly distinguish himself. His vaguely mixed ethnicity wouldn't have seemed out of place even during her time in the navy, and while he might have been considered well-built outside of the military, on this ship he certainly didn't stand out. Saratoga probably passed him in a passageway several times during her time on the _Kennedy _without noticing.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He asked, smoothing his strictly-regulation hair.

"On deck?" Saratoga started, her questions temporarily forgotten. "Yeah. I was always looking for information on the future of carriers, but this…" The carrier waved her hand over the passageway, stepping aside to let a sailor past her.

"Launching and receiving at the same time? Electric catapults? _Computers?_ Practically infinite service range?" Saratoga shook her head. The realization that the power that pundits had claimed would doom her children was instead their greatest asset didn't sit well with the carrier, but it had an irony that was growing on her. "And seeing it all… Even the passageways are wider."

The spook nodded.

"Have you had lunch? I didn't catch you at the galley."

It was only then that the carrier noticed the gnawing feeling in her gut. Was watching the _Kennedy's _flight deck so enthralling?

"I… guess it had slipped my mind." Saratoga replied, only allowing the thought to distract her for a moment. "You were waiting for me?"

"I was, yes." Murray nodded, starting down the passage and motioning for Saratoga to follow.

"I was wondering when you'd want to talk." She said, not content to leave the space between them filled with the _Kennedy's _ambient noise. "Lexie said you practically pounced on the last two former Princesses you were involved in."

"As it turns out, it seems that wasn't entirely necessary." The intel officer replied, looking over his shoulder before descending the first ladder. "It doesn't seem your memories as a Princess are stored in a regular manner."

She could have told him that. It was like she'd kept a log as an Abyssal Princess, but someone had torn all the pages out and left them scattered them around her decks. She could find a page and view a snippet of her life, but stringing them together was an arduous task.

A Wo-class Carrier, wallowing in the gentle waves of the Atoll as it burned.

Another princesses' Re-class cruiser, fear and contempt equal on her face as Saratoga denied The Abyssal's Master.

Crying into Lexie's shoulder, clinging to the Essex as if she was a life preserver.

Emotions, too, but they were scattered and mismatched. Perhaps she could have put it all together, but she firmly wanted to keep that part of her life behind her. On top of that, she feared there might be a threat in immersing herself in the past. Who knew if she could relapse, becoming the monster in the Atoll once again?

Better to ignore it, focusing on her time before Crossroads and the now. There was nothing good in that pit of self-pity and despair. Still… if the intel weenies needed something, she'd do her duty.

"They don't fade?" She questioned. The idea of those memories, _that other self_, lingering under the surface for the rest of her life, was terrifying.

"Everything fades," The Lieutenant replied, "but they never really go away. We're after the factual stuff, so giving you time seems like the best way to go about things." Opening the hatch to the officer's galley, Lieutenant Murray made a show of holding it open for the Carrier. "Ideally, we'd be talking about this in San Diego."

"What's the rush, then?"

"Something else just came up." Murray stated, following Saratoga into the galley. "You know why an Abyssal would hijack a fishing trawler?"

"They don't." She deadpanned.

"This one did." Murray shrugged.

The galley itself was fairly empty, with the _Kennedy _in GQ not many sailors had the time to sit down for their meal. Among the occasional off-shift officer, a woman out of uniform- no, a Japanese Carrier- stood out in the room. She got up from her meal, limping her way towards the pair.

"This one did what?" The carrier asked, half-eaten chicken wing in hand. "Zuikaku, by the way. I'm the one your girls stuck two torpedoes in."

"Oh…" Like an unexpected squall, guilt washed over Saratoga. She had been told she wouldn't be held responsible for her actions under the sway of the Abyss, but-

"Wa- wait!" The carrier flushed, grabbing Saratoga by the shoulder. "That wasn't your fault! I mean, the _you _you I'm talking to!" The woman shook her head, her pigtails brushing her shoulders. "Look, a while back I was one of them too. I understand."

"Really?"

"We'll talk about that once she's gotten some food." Murray interjected. "If a mere human like me got hungry waiting for her, I can't imagine what it's like for a fleet carrier."

She didn't feel _too _hungry, but if The Lieutenant wanted them to settle down before speaking she wasn't going to interject.

* * *

They'd found a table at the edge of the room, far away from the the rest of the galley's occupants.

"Now that we're eating, I'll try introducing myself again." Zuikaku said, placing a pair a chopsticks she must have brought with her on the table. "JS Zuikaku, former Abyssal Crane Princess."

Something clicked in the back of Saratoga's mind. A deathly white face, twisted in scorn. _A coward like you is a shame to your fleet_.

"You're one of the princesses that visited me personally." She'd _thought _the japanese carrier had been familiar, but had assumed it had happened during the war. Only after reviewing her shattered memories as an abyssal did she match her face to a ship. "You wanted my help in taking Okinawa, right?"

"Yeah." The japanese carrier said, pausing to take a bite of orange chicken. "It's a good thing you refused. If the Abyssals had one more capital ship in the Okinawa campaign, a lot of people would have died and I might have never come to my senses." If Saratoga remembered correctly, 'refused' was a serious understatement. The argument had devolved into an hours-long standoff.

"Oh." Saratoga replied, poking at a pile of mash potatoes the size of her head. "We still hold Okinawa?"

"Yes," Murray replied. "but it's not much more than a military base at this point."

The trio settled into a silence as they went over their lunch, the hum of the _Kennedy's _air conditioning and the distant activity of the kitchen providing them company.

Saratoga, despite her appetite, found it hard to focus on her meal. The conversation on their past lives had been surprisingly easy. Recalling the actual memories of the events had been confusing and more than a little frightening, but simply pulling facts from her previous life came easily and painlessly. Like she had a dispassionate report on the subject in front of her.

Her gaze drifted from her tray and to the damaged Japanese Carrier sitting across from her. As far as she knew, the only ships that had been modified with repair baths were the Amphibious Assault Ships that were sailing with their fleet, yet Zuikaku was relaxing on the American fleet's flagship. Murray and Saratoga meeting the the green-haired girl was no accident.

"So…" She started, sticking her fork in the pile of mashed potatoes like a flagpole. "Murray had you transferred here?"

The carrier looked up from her meal, her chopsticks still stuck in her mouth. "Hmm?"

"I did." The Lieutenant replied, before pointing his fork at the carrier. "_That's _an Abyssal expert."

"Rude to point, you know." Zuikaku replied, her words muffled by the meat she was chewing. The carrier stopped, swallowed, and spoke up again. "Anyways, you were talking about something earlier. Asking for Saratoga's advice, I think."

"Yes." Murray replied. "Before I start, though, the Navy's keeping a tight lid on this. The DIH is probably going to bring you into the loop the moment you get back to Japan, but until then I haven't told you anything, alright?"

Zuikaku nodded, looking back at Saratoga. At the American Carrier's shrug, Lieutenant Murray spoke up again.

"34 hours ago, some Abyssal cruiser snuck under some natural weather and jumped a fishing boat. Instead of blasting the idiots, who'd sailed way west of our coverage, she hailed them and requested they surrender. Then, the Abyssal's signature dropped off the radar, and the fishing boat stopped responding to hails. It's currently sailing east, and so far reconnaissance suggests she's still manned by her original crew."

"A lot of what you said there doesn't make sense." Zuikaku shook her head, her meal forgotten. "Princesses use human frequencies all the time for taunting, and sometimes submarines will watch any open channel they can find, but a _cruiser_?" As the carrier thought, the chopsticks started idly spinning in her hands. "Then they start sailing back towards America like nothing's happened?"

"That's correct."

"You sure this wasn't a princess? Some of the raiders in the Atlantic can hide their signature weather activity pretty well."

"Well ladies, it's going to be my job to find out." Murray sighed. "I've been reassigned to that case. My helicopter leaves in two hours."

"Let's spend that time figuring out this hijacking thing." Zuikaku interjected, tapping her chopsticks against the table. "You can leave debriefing Sara to me."

Saratoga nodded. "I don't know how ONI will feel about that, but this must be important. I don't have a good impression of the other princesses in the Pacific, but I'm sure a stunt like this would never cross their mind."

"Someone else in San Diego will handle Saratoga's debriefing." Lieutenant Murray said, standing and grabbing his tray. "Zuikaku, you know where my office is. I'll start looking through reports while you two finish eating."

As the spook left, Zuikaku turned back to her food. "So…" she said, grabbing another piece of orange chicken in her chopsticks. "Any ideas?"


	6. Dinner and a Flight

Trinitite had to admit, boarding the fishing trawler and gazing at its inner workings had piqued her curiosity. She knew what one was, of course, as the one she had boarded matched the one in her identification charts pretty well, but she wasn't at all sure how it worked. The Crossroads Fleet did plenty of fishing, but when Trinitite wasn't asking the subs to bring a little extra up with them, her method usually involved finding where all the sea birds were feeding and dropping a depth charge on them. By the time she had cruised to the target location, the birds that survived the explosion had enjoyed their meal and moved on, leaving plenty of food floating there for her to enjoy.

However, while this trawler seemed to have a fairly sophisticated sonar system, the Wo-class carrier couldn't find a depth charge launcher anywhere on the ship. How could they get fish in their nets when they were still swimming around?

So, when the human watching the sonar called out a large school of fish, Trinity got a little excited.

When the sailor cut herself off and spun to face Trinitite, the carrier was… confused, to say the least. They had just found a school of fish, and instead of doing anything everyone on the bridge was sitting there, staring at either her or the girl on the sonar.

"Well?"

Every moment she spent around humans, they got stranger.

At her word, the bridge sprung into action. Their Captain started issuing orders over the intercom and the Trawler sprung to life. Guided by her curiosity, the Wo-class Abyssal found herself leaving the bridge of the trawler behind and wondering the main deck. The large net in the center of the ship had been lowered, with the sailors at its controls. Trinity wasn't sure about that: Even with a net that big, wouldn't the fish just swim out of the way? Curiosity peaked, the Wo class found a comfortable spot on the deck, wrapping her cape around her as she watched the working sailors.

Eventually, the motors on the deck activated, and the net was slowly drug aboard. As the massive contraption rose, Trinitite stood, walking next to one of the waiting sailors. Swiping at fish with a net seemed awfully hit-and-miss, no matter how big it was, but the human next to her seemed oddly confident.

Then the first fish actually showed itself, and the Carrier's boiler pressure skyrocketed.

"What- how?" The carrier sputtered, incredulous. Engines wined as the net, practically bursting with fish, hauled itself upon the trawler's deck. It was far more than twice the most fish she'd ever seen at once, a school of all kinds of that filled the deck and rose to her waist. As the fishermen advanced on the ocean's bounty, Trinitite numbly followed them, in awe of the feast in front of her.

The sailors undid the net and fish started pouring through the grate below, and Trinitite found herself reaching into the mass of sea life. Plucking out one she hadn't seen before and taking a few steps away from the working fishermen, the Carrier admired her catch. This one comfortably filled both hands, its gold scaling interrupted by regular black stripes. Intrigued, the Abyssal dug in. It _had _been a while since she'd eaten.

The fish did not disappoint. Its taste was a bit more mild than she was used to, but the way its juices flowed when her teeth shredded it was delightful. Taking another bite, Trinitite yanked the fish away from her face, enjoying the feeling of the flesh as it tore and rended away. Sucking the meat dangling from her lips in, she enjoyed the feeling of the fish melting in her mouth, before finally swallowing her meal. The Abyssal smacked her lips, wiping the blood from her face and savoring the flavor that still lingered. It had been a far too long since she'd been able to properly enjoy a fish.

Huh. All the fishermen who had previously been working on the net were staring at her, the whites of their eyes standing out from their bulky coats and bushy beards.

What, had they never eaten a fish before?

A glare sent them back to their work, and Trinitite walked forward for some privacy. How were you _supposed _to eat a fish, then?

As machinery hummed belowdecks, Trinitite attempted to enjoy her meal. She had plotted a course she was fairly confident in, and so far The Captain seemed to be following it. Once they got there… She needed more information. Perhaps asking around would be the best option, but to put it bluntly she doubted she'd get a straight answer from them.

Her meal finished, Trinitite stood, throwing what remained of the fish's carcass over the side. She wouldn't be able to trust their information, but there might be a sliver of truth in what they said. Trinitite turned, making her way back to the bridge-

Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The abyssal stopped, walking to the edge of the railing and staring at the object peeking out from over the horizon. A huge antenna array, situated atop an angular grey superstructure. Massive, although she remembered it was supposedly 'just' a destroyer. Probably the same class of ship that knocked her out of the battle for Bikini.

Trinitite sighed, leaning back against the trawler's superstructure. Well, this was never going to be easy, was it?

* * *

"You doing alright?"

USS Nashville groaned, leveling a glare at the spook across from her. If she'd known her first sortie as a woman would end in her getting into one of these… _things_, she would have 'accidentally' stripped a turbine during the battle of Bikini. Nobody would have blamed her: this mission was her first after her recommissioning, and it had been considered an unofficial shakedown. Then, she wouldn't be strapped hundreds of feet above the sea, desperately trying to hold her guts in while the contraption tried to vibrate itself apart. How did carriers deal so well with air travel? How did _humans_? Who thought helicopters were a good idea, let alone this hybrid abomination that was hurling them away from the carrier group?

Hell, "forgetting" to dodge some of the fire from the Midway Princess's high-altitude bombers was didn't sound so bad anymore. The thought of spending more time with Honolulu and Brooklyn aboard the _Tripoli _as she underwent repairs taunted her. Alas, they'd passed outside the Abyssal's strike range just before she'd been 'volunteered' for this little fun ride, meaning she was stuck in here.

A transport aircraft meant to seat 34 people.

With one other person.

Why did it still feel too small?

"I see." The lieutenant replied, leaning back into his seat. She'd only known the man for a few hours and the Light Cruiser already hated him. In her three months as a woman, she'd been on the receiving end of plenty of glares, smiles, ogglings, and sympathetic looks. The spy was completely unreadable. No respect for a warship that could paste him in a heartbeat, no humor from watching her suffer, no pity for the proverbial fish-out-of-water, just a flat poker face.

The smug bastard could have been thinking anything, but Nashville wasn't feeling particularly charitable.

"Remind me." She spat out, trying to distract herself from the mutiny in her gut. "Why am_ I_ in this thing?"

"A Seahawk is too slow," The Lieutenant said, looking up from a laptop he'd unfolded. That wasn't allowed, right? "Nothing faster than an Osprey can land on the _Benfold_."

That wasn't what Nashville meant, and Murray knew it. Nashville sent the ONI officer another glare, and returned to enduring the ride in silence.

"Looks like we've got a new report from the Benfold." The man nodded, suddenly breaking the silence. "Our Eldritch friend is letting The _Pacific Lilly_ do her job, it seems."

"That's polite." Nashville said. There were implications there, but she'd rather mull over them when her head didn't feel like an overloaded boiler. "Week's salary says their stock's poisoned now."

"No deal." Murray replied, his flat expression marred by the ghost of a smile. Well, he wasn't a robot, at least. "We don't know if she's left the entire crew untouched or if what we're seeing is the only survivors. We don't know if there's an actual hostage situation here, or if this abyssal's just hitchhiking." He paused, closing his laptop. "If they're trying to infiltrate us, a submarine would do a lot better. If they were trying to take prisoners, they wouldn't be sailing back to the US. If they were trying to defect-"

"_Defect?_" Nashville choked. Abyssals were hate machines that did nothing but kill and burn. Such an idea… it was ridiculous!

"At this point, Nash, we're grasping at straws." The spook shook his head. "If they were, though, they'd be more open with their radio than they are. I think we can rule that out."

"We aren't on nickname terms, Lieutenant." Nashville scolded, before leaning back in her harness.

"Noted." Lieutenant murray nodded, looking up at the roof of the aircraft. "Unless they thought someone was listening and feared reprisal…"

A silence settled between the Lieutenant and Light Cruiser, filled by the hum of distant rotors. As her gut churned, Nashville realized the problem had diverted her attention, at least somewhat.

"Maybe they don't have a plan." Nashville piped up, desperate to ignore the fact that she, a warship, was _flying_.

"Hmm?" Lieutenant Murray responded, permission to let Nashville think aloud.

"All of this…" The Light Cruiser mulled, her thoughts continuing to drift to her violently shaking seat. "It's sloppy, you know? Maybe this Abyssal had a plan, but it's already blown up in her face and she's improvising."

"...so when we get there, getting an irrational response might be more likely than something calculated and logical."

"Yeah," she replied, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her eyes "like a cornered animal."

Conversation stalled after that, but the pair had plenty to think about. The idea of a 'cruiser'- but spotting Abyssals with radar was a crapshoot, so it could be anything- suddenly lashing out at them with crazed desperation wasn't something she was looking forwards to dealing with.

"We're the only backup DESRON 1 is getting, right?"

"That's correct." Murray replied, lips pursing. "But it's only part of DESRON 1. The _Benfold _and three of the Farragut sisters."

"Shit." Nashville replied. "That's it?" This thing was barreling towards the mainland and the largest navy in the world couldn't spare a single capital ship?

"We're trying to keep this quiet until we know what's going on." The Lieutenant replied. "An Abyssal just jumped a ship without killing everyone on it. The more people that know about the _Pacific Lilly_, the bigger chance we have of someone jumping to a wrong conclusion and screwing all of this up."

"An enemy vessel is heading directly for the mainland..." Nashville replied slowly. "...and when the shooting starts, all that stands in their way is going to be light cruiser and four destroyers."

"Even if it's a Re-class, it'll be knife-fighting with three 's a volley of…" Lieutenant Murray paused. "12 torpedoes at once, plus whatever _Benfold _can get off before she's mulched."

"And that's where you'll be." Nashville finished the Murray's thought. The Lieutenant might be one of the plan's supporters, but he was perhaps in greater danger than Nashville would be. "These early-war Mark 14's?"

"I hope not." He replied, cracking his laptop back open. "We'll have to ask them."

The pair continued hashing out details, forming contingencies and recommendations for the scenario ahead. The practice didn't entirely take Nashville's mind off the sickness flying induced in the light cruiser, but at this point this wasn't her intention: worrying about the road ahead was distracting enough.

* * *

**When I first started writing this fic, I set a rule for myself: No OC ships. Well, that rule died quickly, and here's why: My plan was to find a historically interesting ship, then go to AL, The Pacific, Warship Girls, or Victory Bells designs where there wasn't a KC one. The problem is even among 5 sources, coverage of the US navy is actually pretty spotty and there are a lot of designs I just don't like.**

**Still, reading up on the Brooklyn sisters meant that I had to use them. Nashville is original, but I figure she follows the same design philosophy as the _Brooklyn _sisters in AL (although I'm pretending their rigging looks a bit more like a ship or something we see in KC). Why go for them specifically? Because they actually seem pretty interesting, especially one of them who's got a really sad "fall from grace" history. A guaranteed Antagonist of the family, if you will. **


	7. Trinitite Learns Utilitarianism

The steel-hulled destroyer was accompanied by three others, these ones sharing Trinitite's dual nature. If that was the full extent of the force, Trinitite would already be in trouble, but the enemy had been reinforced when a helicopter had landed on the destroyer. It could have been anything from a squadron of destroyers to a line of battleships. As the human ship towered over the fishing trawler, she was starting to feel a little cornered.

"Are you certain this ship can't go any faster?" This wasn't the first time Trinitite asked this question, but with the task force hovering behind them, the helpless Abyssal found herself querying the Captain with greater desperation. The fishing trawler wasn't built for speed, yes, but surely without armor and weapons they could go a little faster?

"Aye." The captain replied, nodding solemnly. She'd plotted a course for a section of the American coast that didn't seem particularly inhabited, and so far it seemed the Captain was holding to it. Trinitite reviewed the trawler's navigation equipment again, including the ever-intriguing 'GPS' device, but couldn't find anything suspicious. It seemed like they were cooperating with her, although she knew their true loyalties lay with her pursuers.

"_Attention Pacific Lilly!_" Trinitite jumped, spinning to face the approaching destroyer. The human ship had closed to less than 100 yards, and on her bow stood a sailor with a surprisingly small speaking trumpet.

Huh. When she muted the radio, she hadn't expected them to just sail up and start talking, although _of course they would_. Trinitite, you idiot! _Stupid, stupid Wo!_

"_Abyssal Vessel. I can see you in the bridge._"

Trinitite stared blankly at the enemy sailor, her mouth agape. What now? Obviously they weren't going away any time soon. Should she tell The Captain to talk to them? Just walk out and start speaking? What would she even say? She needed a moment to get her thoughts together.

"Captain…" Trinitite started, grabbing the back of the man's jacket and pushing him towards the door. "_Deal with them!_"

Captain Kelly paused, turning craning his neck to get a look at the abyssal. "What, they clearly want to talk to-"

"You first!" She barked, grabbing a similarly small speaking trumpet from the bridge's bulkhead and shoving it into the larger man's chest. Over the week she'd spent riding on The _Pacific Lilly_, the crew had started to relax around her. She was starting to regret that.

As The Captain stumbled outside to face the destroyer, Trinitite plopped down in his chair, staring into the GPS screen. The _Pacific Lilly_ was over four hundred miles from the mainland. Hopefully keeping the crew of the trawler intact would stop them from outright sinking her, but they had plenty of shipgirls. What was going to stop them from boarding, wrestling Trinitite off the ship, and _then _sinking her? The ship had to throw Trinitite a rope to let her board, but the massive destroyer next to the trawler provided a great point for them to to throw a rope themselves or just jump.

So… she had to convince them to let her onto their mainland. She briefly thought of telling them about her princess, but that thought was crushed in an instant. These were the people who had almost used her mother up, then turned on her the moment the opportunity for a better weapon presented itself. These were the people who would sink her in a heartbeat if she wasn't surrounded by some of their own. _These were the people who took her Princess from her._

If she wanted the time to make it to the mainland, Trinitite was going to have to get creative, wasn't she?

* * *

"That's a relief."

Nashville blinked, turning away from the CIC's display.

"What?"

"Looks like the target is an aircraft carrier. Easy pickings, at this range."

Like almost every officer Nashville had encountered, Commander Michael Iniguez was younger than his rank would hint at. Between massive casualties at the beginning of the war, more than one political shakeup, and the Navy's major expansion, pretty much everyone in the prewar navy found themselves at least one paygrade above where they'd started. Nashville didn't know how the man landed his post as the Captain of the _Benfold_, but so far he seemed worthy of it.

Nashville looked back at the screen, currently displaying a feed taken from a sailor next to Lieutenant Murray. As the ONI Lieutenant started interrogating the _Pacific Lilly's_ Captain over megaphone, the camera focused on the monster huddled in the fishing trawler's bridge. Nashville had studied her identification charts whenever she had the time to, but she couldn't immediately draw a parallel from the cowering girl in the ship and the tall, mushroom-capped monsters who defined any fleet they were a part of. Here, seeing her without her most identifying features and through a camera, her true nature was pretty obscured.

"You can tell from the cape." Captain Iniguez continued, his voice echoing even in the busy CIC. "That toothy neck guard seems to stay behind when they dismiss their rigging."

"I didn't know abyssals _had _rigging." Nashville replied. She felt something like that would be good to know, although she couldn't think of many situations where it would be useful knowledge. Then again, she wouldn't have thought _this _could happen, either. Better throw that suggestion up the chain of command when she had the time.

"We see it pretty often when we spy on them." Captain Iniguez replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "You were part of the force that hit Bikini, right? You must have missed them in the reconnaissance reports."

Nashville grunted noncommittally, turning back to the live feed. The Captain of the fishing trawler was saying that so far none of his crew had been hurt by the creature when the Wo-class abruptly stood, striding out of the bridge and grabbing the megaphone from the human. She brought the thing to her mouth, said something which the camera's microphone couldn't pick up, then brought it down and looked at The Fisherman. He pointed to a spot on the device, and the Abyssal nodded. When the megaphone finally crackled to life, the Abyssal's surprisingly human voice emanated from the computer's speakers.

"_I'm borrowing this ship. Go away_."

There was a moment of silence as the intelligence officer mulled over the abrupt statement. Nashville recalled something from her initial briefing. She'd said the same thing over the radio, right?

"_…I'm afraid we can't do that, Miss._" Murray's reply was exactly what she would expect.

"_You'll get them back._" The Abyssal replied, and Nashville couldn't help but snort. Did _an Abyssal_ think her word meant anything?

"_Forgive us if we don't trust you_." Murray replied. Why was he bothering with such politeness? Was this a game to him? "_How about you hand her crew over and we'll talk about this without resorting to hostages?_"

"_No! I know why you haven't sunk me already!_" The response was immediate, hurried.

"_Okay._" The Lieutenant replied, drawing out his response. "_You're heading for land, correct? Why don't you leave these poor fishermen alone and come aboard? We can take you where you need to go._"

"I'm not letting that _thing _on my ship." Captain Iniguez growled, and Nashville found herself nodding. What was the Spook trying to do?

"_Really?_" The Abyssal's voice rose in excitement, before she suddenly stopped and shook her head. "_No, you're trying to trick me._"

"I guess it was worth a try?" Nashville commented, shaking her head in return. That got a lot closer to working than it had any right to. She didn't realize 'hopeful' was an adjective you could use to describe abyssals. This one must be particularly desperate.

"_If you don't trust us not to give you a ride, why do you trust us not to sink the Pacific Lilly?_"

"_You wouldn't do that! You're belong to the same nation, right? Humans don't kill their own people!_" Somebody behind the pair barked a laugh, but when the Captain turned the CIC's crew had returned to their duties.

"I think my theory was correct." Nashville stated, watching the monster's pose as she shouted back at the _Benfold_.

"Your theory?" Captain Iniguez asked, turning away from the monitor.

"This Abyssal's an idiot. We're overestimating her."

"It could be an act." The Captain pointed out, but Nashville only returned his statement with a shrug.

"_You know, a carrier like you probably has a lot of bombers. At this range, our ship's guns would down anything you launched, but once you get on land? She couldn't follow you, and you could launch them with impunity. If we let that happen, how many people could die?_"

"_I'm not going to hurt anyone!_" The abyssal shouted. Nashville wasn't sure if she was a camera artifact, but it seemed like the abyssal's eyes were glowing in different colors. That meant she was, at least to some degree, a veteran of the war so far. '_Not going to hurt anyone_' her aft.

"_We don't know that._" The Lieutenant replied, his voice even. "_How many people could you kill with your bombers? More than the crew of the Pacific Lilly?_"

Silence descended between the two ships as the Abyssal stared back at the Lieutenant. Nashville could almost feel the little carrier's plans falling apart around her.

"_You're threatening them?_" She shouted, incredulous and desperate. "_Isn't that my job?_"

"_You seem pretty reasonable, so I'll give you this to think about: Whatever it is that's so important you have to get to the coast?_" The abyssal said nothing, so Lieutenant Murray continued. "_If you keep doing this, you won't make it. We've given you other options, ma'am, consider them._"

At that, the Lieutenant brought the megaphone down, turned his back on the Abyssal, and walked away.

"She could break him in two, yet he played her like a fiddle the entire time." Nashville piped up, watching the Abyssal drop the megaphone and dash belowdecks. "Remind me never play that man in poker."

"She might also be more inclined to talk next time he calls her." The Commander looked away from the feed, shaking his head. "But I'm afraid the Abyssal going to be more likely to try something desperate."

"Let her." Nashville replied, flexing her fingers and letting her knuckles pop. "I've never gotten to sink another ship before." There wasn't any way to be sure, but Nashville was certain _Benfold _agreed with her statement.

* * *

**Well, that went out faster than I expected. Hope you enjoy!**

**We're looking at one more part of this ocean shit before we move on to the point of this fic. (Retrospective edit: I don't)**


	8. Shots Fired

Before they encountered the Navy Strike Force, Trinitite hadn't interacted much with the crew. She still had plenty of food stored from Bikini, so there wasn't much reason to enter the galley beyond curiosity. She hadn't slept since the Firebringers first hit Bikini, but she still figured she had three weeks or so before rest became a serious issue. As far as she was concerned, there wasn't much reason to do more than hover around the bridge, watching and adjusting The _Pacific Lilly's_ course while everyone else pretended the Abyssal wasn't there.

Now? Standing on the bridge meant she was in clear sight of four enemy warships, and every moment she watched she could feel their rangefinders boring into her hull. She was running out of ideas, and standing still no longer sat well with her. Finally, the ultimatum from the Navy meant that her actions would have a significant effect on the crew of the _Pacific Lilly_, a responsibility she hadn't had before.

So, here she was, inside the Trawler's minuscule galley, watching the normal bridge crew eat as she continued racking her brain.

"God damnit." A sailor cursed, staring at a device on the table. "You'd think we'd get cell coverage this close to shore."

The 'negotiations' had stretched on for days, due in part to Trinitite's efforts in making sure they went nowhere. It would have been more than enough time for the Fishing Trawler to make it to shore, if the steel-hull destroyer hadn't fired a shell over The _Pacific Lilly's_ bow and stated the ship had gotten close enough, thank you.

Not that she could blame Captain Kelley for stopping. While the hills and trees of the mainland were barely visible over the horizon, getting any closer would only result in all of them sinking. One, maybe two more nautical miles, and she might consider taking her chances and make a dash ashore, but out here they could easily run her down and tear her apart. With the Navy's ultimatum, The _Pacific Lilly_ couldn't make that distance without itself getting sunk.

"That's a national park out there." The sonar operator muttered, taking a bite from a strange meal in front of her. "Not many cell towers."

"They're jamming us." Captain Kelly grunted, dropping a plate of similar food on the table and taking a seat. "They don't want this situation getting out to the public."

Apparently, you were supposed to burn a fish, before tearing it apart with tools designed specifically for preparing it for consumption. _Then _you were allowed to eat it. For the life of her Trinitite couldn't figure out why they made process so complicated.

Still, they had to make all those changes for a reason. Trinitite had her doubts on the meal in front of the Captain, but she figured trying it out wouldn't hurt anything.

"Give me one of those." Trinitite stated, pointing at the strange food. Idly, she wondered what they had done with the rest of the fish. She wouldn't put it past the humans to toss 90% of a meal out, but even that seemed excessively wasteful.

"My dinner?"

"Yes."

The Captain grunted, standing back up and sliding the plate to Trinitite. "I'll be right back."

Trinitite stared at the dish, using one of the tools to poke at the strange meat in front of her. On closer inspection, the meat wasn't like anything she'd she'd seen before: A bit stringy, but a poke with the multi-pronged tool revealed it to be surprisingly tender. The yellow sauce that coated the meat, along with the strange white pellets it sat upon, didn't help in identifying it. What kind of fish was this?

"Never eaten chicken before?"

The sudden comment caused Trinitite to jump, looking up to view the sonar operator. Her and the other sailor were watching her poke at her meal, wearing perhaps the least hostile expressions the Abyssal had seen on them.

"Chicken?"

"It's a bird."

Trinitite stared back at her food with a noncommittal "Oh." She'd had birds before, but they tended to be too tough for her liking. Experimental prodding yielded significantly softer meat than what she would expect, which was odd. Didn't birds have to be lean and tough in order to fly and catch their prey? Whatever bird _this_ came from must have been fat and lazy. Maybe that was why she hadn't immediately drawn the connection.

She stabbed one of the chunks of meat, bringing it up to her face and slowly spinning it in front of her. The morsel steamed, and a smell unlike anything she'd experienced before tickled her nostrils as it's scent wafted towards her. Some of the strange white pellets hung in the thick sauce that encased it. The carrier… wasn't sure what to make of it.

With a sigh, The Abyssal placed the food back on it's plate and leaned back in her chair. She _should _be eating whenever she had the opportunity, but food wasn't all that appealing when you knew death was bearing down on you like an impossibly thick spread of torpedoes.

"I'm going to die here, aren't I?"

This was it. No matter what she did here, the sheer amount of firepower the Navy had arrayed against her would smash her like a lifeboat in a typhoon. She was never going to make it to her mainland. She was never going to get a chance to investigate her princess, and she would never enjoy her sweet, cool embrace again.

She was going to try, of course. She'd never consider giving anything less than her life for her Princess, after all. Trinitite had some experience dealing with incoming missiles and torpedoes, but the guns on the destroyers were a threat she wasn't sure how to handle.

"That's not guaranteed." Trinitite's attention was pulled back to the two sailors at the table. The sonar operator's statement, while not comforting like she'd expect from her old fleet, at least seemed neutral.

"Why not?" She replied, confused.

The woman stared at her for half a second, a thoughtful look on her face.

"You know, I've been thinking." She said, turning her attention back to her food. "What's so important to an Abyssal they're willing to put up with a boat-full of people?" She speared a chunk of chicken with one of her tools, pointing the meat at Trinitite. "Your and our kind aren't exactly on speaking terms."

"Yeah," The other man interjected. "What in The States is so important?"

Trinitite stared back at the pair, her mind racing. Before this point, they hadn't shown any interest in her motives, only her actions. If they were prying into them, did that mean they were thinking about helping her, or were they just curious? They Abyssal looked back at her food, sighed, and took a chance. She was dead if she didn't try, anyways.

"I'm… looking for someone." She started, mentally rearranging the truth into something she would be comfortable sharing. "We were close before she suddenly left, and I think she ran here." Whatever she told them, the Navy could interrogate out of them, so she wanted to be vague. No point giving the enemy a reason to hide Her Princess.

"What, like an, undercover agent?"

"I wish it was that simple." Trinitite replied, shaking her head. "I don't know where she is or what she's doing. I don't even know why she's in 'The States'."

"Then how do you know she's there?" The man replied, pointing over his shoulder towards the hidden shore.

"I do." Trinitite replied, certainty in her voice. "I'm not sure I want the Navy to know how."

"So you're looking for a lost friend?" The woman said, a smirk appearing on her features. "Or lover?"

Trinitite nodded. "Yes, that's true." She _did_ love her mother, after all.

"Alright…" the man nodded, sharing a glance with his partner. "Because Kelley and I had an idea…"

As the fishermen explained their plan, Trinitite found herself more at ease. She didn't see it giving her much more of a chance, but it just might be enough.

Without fully thinking about it, The Abyssal grabbed the tool on her plate, popping the piece of chicken in her mouth. Even with the blood that had been drained out, it was pleasantly juicy, and while the flavor on the sauce was unique, she couldn't say she _hated_ it. There was another feeling, though, that she registered as she swallowed her bite. A faint tingle, that seemed to get stronger as she thought about it.

Trinitite's eyes widened, before she suddenly coughed. The odd tingle started to burn, before spiking in intensity and scorching her throat. Forget the meat, what… what kind of _weapon_ was in that sauce?

Alarms sounded inside her. Fire suppression systems activated as damage control personnel scurried through her decks, frantically searching for the damage. As the Wo-Class carrier keeled over, clawing at her throat, the portion of her mind not consumed by pain detected… laughter?

"Oh god, there's nothing spicy in the Ocean, is there?" The sonar operator laughed, ignoring Trinitite's glare and pushing a glass full of some white substance towards her. "Drink this. It should help with the curry."

As the strange liquid poured down her throat and doused the fire raging below-decks, Trinitite made note in her log: Just like in a real battle, incomplete knowledge about the human world was going to get her killed.

* * *

_Where are you going now?_

At first, _USS Benfold_ had pitied the _Pacific Lilly_. She wouldn't have approved of the poor Trawler's decision to venture beyond the Navy's protection, but having to host an Abyssal was a fate she wouldn't wish on _any _ship, let alone a civilian one. The terrified vessel had been hysteric when the missile destroyer had arrived, pleading with _Benfold _to remove the monster that had taken her hostage.

Then the ultimatum had been delivered, and after a few days of pointless chatter between that thing and Lieutenant Murray, _Benfold _had been forced to fire a warning shot over the _Pacific Lilly_.

_South_.

She'd become much less cooperative after that.

_I could tell that, Lilly. Why?_

If _Benfold _hadn't known better, she would have thought the fishing trawler was working _with_ The Abyssal, now. Her responses were irritated, and unhelpful, and the ship took every opportunity she could to insult the _Benfold_.

_You don't need to know that_.

_Benfold _could feel her temper rising, but she tried to stay calm. This was a stressful situation, after all, and rationality was unfortunately rare in stressful situations. If she just explained things…

_Yes, I do. If that thing gets too close to a population center-_

_You'll sink me. Yes, you made that pretty clear._

_What was with this civvie_? Was the Abyssal slowly subverting the Pacific Lilly's judgement? Or was the life of her and her crew _so much_ more important than the lives of thousands? Anger flared in the Missile Destroyer. Of any family that had suffered from the Abyssal war, perhaps none was more impacted than the DDG-51s and their foreign cousins. A third of the original DESRON 1 had been lost in the war so far, and _Benfold_ knew her unit had gotten off relatively easy. Still, she understood her sisters had given their lives freely, knowing that their sacrifice had been made so that others may live. Every ship loved their crew, but to see one so selfish to put the lives of their sailors above those of so many-

"_Benfold, this is Dewey_." A girl's voice crackled over the net, her report cutting the Missile Destroyer before she could start talking sense to the Trawler. "_I'm seeing a man overboard near the Lilly, over_."

What?

"_Benfold, this is Monaghan. I can confirm the report on the man overboard, I'm seeing two life vests_."

Excluding negotiation sessions with The Abyssal, _Benfold_ stayed in formation about two and a half klicks from the fishing boat. Still spitting distance if shooting started, but there was enough space for the Farragut Sisters to establish a nominal screen between her and the enemy capital ship. Thus, spotting the two overboard civilians on her own was… difficult. However, the drone they'd launched had no issue picking out the two heat signatures bobbing next to the trawler, crawling towards the three destroyers as the trawler pulled away from them.

"Dewy, Mohnagan, this is Benfold" Captain Iniguez replied from Benfold's bridge, his gaze focused on the trawler. "Fish 'em out. Nashville will cover you while we send a RHIB."

That was a shame. They'd hoped to keep Nashville a secret until the Abyssal did something stupid, but dedicating two destroyers to picking up the escapees was going to open a hole in their defenses they couldn't ignore. _Benfold_ was glad two more people wouldn't be in danger from that thing, but if The Abyssal was going to attack (and she didn't really have another option besides surrender) she'd do it now. Farragut seemed to have the same idea, guns pointing at the trawler as her sisters made their way for the two sailors. Once her UAV had confirmed the running civvies were secure, _Benfold_ would do the same.

Five minutes ticked by, then ten, but it seemed like the abyssal aboard the _Pacific Lilly_ was content to let her hostages run for it. Odd, as they were the only thing keeping her alive. Maybe she thought keeping the others under her gaze was more important, or maybe the Abyssal was starting to crack under pressure.

Come to think of it, _Benfold_ thought that the Trawler would have alerted her of two escapees…

"New surface contact, enemy carrier! Four klicks, bearing zero-five-eight!"

_Benfold_ noticed the sudden return on her radar almost as soon as her weapons officer did.

What?

"Her signature just got a lot worse. She's deploying smoke!"

The question as to how the Wo-class carrier ended up a full kilometer away from The Pacific Lilly was one for another day. Right now, they had to worry about the hostile disappearing behind a silky black cloud and steaming directly for Washington. Iniguez seemed to agree.

"Alpha strike that contact!"

Unfortunately, America's weapons industry hadn't quite caught up with the demand the Abyssal war was placing on the nation and her allies. Thus, only 34 of her 90 missile tubes were loaded, with only eight of the old anti-Ship Tomahawks. Still, saturating the smoke screen with ERAMs, ASROCs and ESSMs guaranteed she'd hit something, even if it might not do the damage she'd like to. Under normal circumstances, the Captain would be rebuked for wasting so many munitions, but now? That monster deserve nothing but the best.

As her 5 inch gun beat a thunderous tattoo and her aft deck was obscured by a rippling wave of death, USS _Benfold_ found herself stunned by her first alpha strike. Even if it wasn't close to her full potential, and even if the majority of her striking power wasn't designed for use against ships at all, and even though the Carrier's smoke would almost guarantee the majority of her shots would miss, she figured it might just be enough.

_This is for Stockdale, bitch._

* * *

**You know how I said we'd be out of the ocean in the next part. This chapter's size ran away from me again, so here's the first half. Guess I lied.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed!**


	9. The Battle off Kalaloch

Trinitite had to admit: Swimming with her rigging stowed never would have occurred to her. She'd seen the Crossroads Fleet's submarines swim, of course, but the thought that she could as well, never really occurred to her. She was an Aircraft Carrier. They don't do that.

She knew it was necessary, but if she had truly understood what the process was like, Trinitite doubted she could have summoned the will to do it. Coordinating her kicks and strokes to actually produce forward momentum proved more difficult than she thought, and while the ocean's waves and her natural temperature prevented her from being too visible from above, the waves that she could normally ignore tossed her around like driftwood and hampered her progress even further.

Thus, Trinitite was forced dive underwater, playing submarine until her very limited air supply forced her back to the surface.

It was hellish work. Swimming came easier than she thought it would, but it was anything but enjoyable. The very _idea _of the ocean's embrace surrounding her completely reminded her far too much of sinking, and with water pressing in on _every inch_ of her skin, she started to find it hard to think straight. As a result, she was forced to surface out of desperate panic almost as often as her need for air would. Then, after regaining her bearings and realizing her time above water was just aimlessly knocking her about, she would dive again, swim for as long as she could tolerate it, and suffer another panic attack. After she'd lost track of the number of times she'd repeated this process, she started feeling disconnected from this whole situation, as if the last week or so was just some protracted nightmare. If it wasn't for her quite literal internal compass she would have lost her bearings entirely.

Every time she surfaced, a the majority of her being screamed never again, that it would be so easy to call her rigging back and make more progress than she ever could like this, but she endured. The distraction the two sailors volunteered to create wasn't going to last forever, and sooner or later the task force was going to realize she was missing. They might have spotted her already, but if she waited too long a determined search would mean she could be fairly certain. However, if she squandered her opportunity by deploying early, the Navy would have that much more time to beat her into the sea.

Had it been minutes? hours? In the stress of swimming, she lost track.

She would endure this for as long as she needed to, but now that she wasn't sure it was becoming unbearable.

Screw it.

After surfacing one last time and drawing in a desperate gulp of air, Trinitite concentrated her thoughts on traveling the ocean the proper way. A sudden buoyancy lifted Trinity out of the water, a wave of power surging through her as she found herself plowing through the waves instead of getting thrown about by them.

_We've replaced your superstructure equipment. New radars, new fire directors, and updated radio equipment._

A familiar weight settled upon her head, and with the expansion of her senses Trinitite found herself instinctively relaxing. Taking control of one of her previously unavailable tentacles, she reached up to her hair, brushing a strand out of her face without having to let go of her returned cane.

_The elevators are still dysfunctional. That, as well as serious support for the patch we put on your deck and fixing the busted catapult, isn't going to happen without a proper drydock._

Boilers roared to life, A light cough escaping the Abyssal's lips as her engineers poured additional oil into her smoke stack. The resulting thick, white fog poured from her rigging and started pooling around her like a gathering thunderhead. She wouldn't accelerate as quickly, but with her destination lying just over the horizon, concealment was more important than speed.

_The Hell Diver you wanted is stationed on the working catapult, and your secondaries are loaded._

As Trinitite had predicted, her RDF equipment sprung to life, a tingling in the back of her mind that pointed back at the enemy Task Force. Was there… three sources? Right, the Destroyers.

No matter. As her boilers hadn't generated enough smoke to totally obscure her, her secondaries that had survived thundered. 5 inch guns barked as shells hurtled towards the enemy. When they crashed into the sea barely a hundred yards astern, kicking up towers of spray that gave to more smoke, she found herself smiling. That should do for now.

The screen obscured her fire direction equipment, and using her radar to pick out the hostiles behind her would broadcast her location in the smokescreen. Thus, her first volley was the only one Trinitite planned on firing, thinking it better to push for shore at flank and focus on surviving the Navy's onslaught.

Her surviving catapult sprung as the Hell Diver rocketed off her flight deck, the bomber hugging the waves in an attempt to gain additional speed. That aircraft was her greatest advantage, but with her elevators out it was going to be the only one she could bring to this engagement.

She had experience dealing with the Navy's response. The Crossroads fleet didn't seek out human forces to fight, per-say, but it wasn't self-sufficient. When supplies were needed, her Princess would reluctantly offer the aid of her fleet, given they wouldn't be provoking the humans into using The Fire. This offer was denied by everyone the Crossroads Fleet had contacted, until a surprise response returned from Mindoro.

The Supply Depot Princess was not particularly invested in the greater war effort, beyond her contribution to it. She would insure raw material, specialized tools, and fuel got from its location to its destination intact. To her, the prospect of drawing on the powers of another fleet entirely, no matter their reputation, was irresistible.

And so, Trinitite found herself outside of her home more often than not, guarding someone else's transports as the enemy threw missiles, aircraft, and submarines at her. It was dull, stressful work, but it came with plenty of reward.

Knowing her work was keeping the Crossroads Fleet armed and fed was enough to keep Trinitite going until she could return home, loaded with new supplies for their stockpile and knowing her Mother's embrace would be well earned. Meeting other Abyssal Princesses, enduring their inane rants and witnessing the callous treatment of their children, gave her a sense of perspective that only deepened her love for her leader.

Perhaps the greatest reward for this duty, however, was experience. Dealing with the waves of the onslaught of fire humans constantly threw at her was no small task, and if Trinitite could boast in any sort of specialty, it would be in her ability to run a CAP and direct an escort screen. The battle at Bikini wasn't her first fight, just her first encounter with other surface ships.

Almost as soon as her smoke shells had landed, the enemy's first response arrived. Starboard and ahead of Trinitite, a column of spray sprouted frighteningly close to the carrier. After a moment, another joined, slightly northwest of the last, and then another. One of the fast-firing guns from the steel-hulled destroyers, then. She wouldn't enjoy getting hit by their projectiles, but she had already survived much worse. With a minor adjustment to her course, her slowly increasing acceleration, and the thickening smokescreen, the human cannon grew more and more inaccurate, until Trinitite was fairly certain she wouldn't have to worry about it.

The Carrier had just dismissed the shell splashes when two ultra-fast rockets appeared from the smoke. One passed narrowly by her starboard, it's exhaust leaving a trail on her hull, while the other slammed into her stern. The rocket detonated behind her hangar deck, the bulkhead disappearing into shrapnel.

Trinitite screamed as the supersonic shrapnel tore though her hangar deck, cutting down crew and perforating her waiting aircraft. Casualties were obscene, and her entire air wing was going to need at some repairs, but it would have been much, _much _worse.

If she was refueling or rearming, or if the rocket had struck any lower, and Trinitite would be bathing in the fire of her primary avgas storage. The same kind of rocket that had cratered her deck earlier would have finished her off for good. Briefly, she worried about her Hell Diver ahead of her, but since it had only exploded after it had hit her _directly _she doubted they were in the proper mode to threaten the bomber. She had much more to worry about, anyways.

_New contacts on the RDF. Bearing's changing rapidly, they're close!_

Some of their powerful anti-ship missiles, then. Moving twice as fast as a dive bomber and filled with a mass of explosives nothing but the most determined battleship could withstand, these fat rockets bore in on Abyssal fleets only a few feet above wave crests, under the majority of their anti-aircraft guns. A powerful radar set mounted in the nose blanketed the sea in front of them, constantly hunting for prey as it sped over the ocean.

Trinitite herself had witnessed three transports, two cruisers, and eight particularly unlucky destroyers bear the brunt of their massive warhead, and knew for certain that if one connected it would be the end of her. If she, by some miracle, managed to survive the hit, her fight to stay together would give the enemy destroyers plenty of time to catch up to her.

Normally, her strategy would be to place the fleet in the standard anti-aircraft formation, with one of her own aircraft laying a screen of smoke. Hopefully, the majority of them would dash into the large target, while those who weren't fooled were cut down by the fleet's volume of fire.

As the Abyssal glided through her own smoke, she kept her Air-Search radar inactive. When the enemy was more concerned with bleeding her escorts than killing her transports, their rockets would lock onto her picket's radars and follow them into the ships themselves. With the thick cloud of smoke they were dealing with, the blinded rockets should sail directly through…

Trinitite witnessed one of the fat missiles sail through the smoke, transforming from a distant blur to a rough silhouette to and back into a blur as it glided only a few feet from her hull. The carrier breathed a sigh of as her smoke obscured it once more, its powerful search radar fading as it blasted the the sea ahead of it. At one point the thing's search signal had gotten strong enough the Carrier could feel a headache developing, but it must not have detected her.

Another series of splashes appeared next to her, several shells landing in a tight cluster. That would be one of the three destroyers, then. Judging by how close they'd gotten to the carrier, it seemed their radar was tied into their fire control. Not ideal, but Trinitite but while the light guns from the three ships would cause serious damage, they wouldn't have enough time to sink her before she was safe on land. Still, the carrier altered her dash for the shore into a gentle weave. No reason to make their job easy.

Another cluster of shells landed near Trinitite, obscuring the sound of her Hell Diver as it returned. The bomber passed just aft of its mothership, a curtain of smoke descending behind it to obscure the Carrier further. She veered to port, a moment too late to avoid another volley of shells.

One of the 5 inch projectiles slammed into her deck, burrowing through the decking behind her aft elevator and into her hangar deck. The shell detonated inside her hangar, ruining several damaged aircraft, the three arresting cables on the deck above, and a good portion of her crew spaces.

Trinitite's eyes widened as reports flooded her bridge, her nearby crew scrambling to prevent the shell from doing any more damage. If she'd known a destroyer could hurt her _that _badly...

It was a good thing she wasn't planning on recovering that Hell Diver, because that might not be possible anymore.

Her aircraft continued to climb as another volley of fire slammed into the sea, a sure hit on Trinitite if she hadn't started more serious maneuvering.

Assuming the destroyers didn't outrun her, she could do this all day. And, given her rapidly closing distance to the shore, they wouldn't. It seemed like the fisherman's crazy plan had worked.

_ping_

The Abyssal froze, her boiler pressure spiking as the noise reverberated throughout her hull. They had launched _torpedoes _at her? Nothing launched from the task force should have gotten to her already, right? Had a submarine been tailing her? No, their destroyers could launch torpedoes, right?

_Ping_

Almost instinctively, she cut power to her screws and her speed started to drop. If the thing was close enough a Wo like _her_ could hear it, there was a good chance it would get a return from the Abyssal anyways, but there was no use guiding it in with her cavitation noises.

_PING_

Another volley of shells bracketed the water ahead of her, but she hardly noticed. For a moment, she visualised jumping, safe in the air while the torpedoes glided below, but even if it was possible (she'd never see someone try jumping while underway) the shock of crashing back into her water might do more damage than one of the torpedoes could.

_Ping_

They were gliding away from her already, which meant they must have been closer than she realized. It wouldn't be a good idea, but at that moment The Carrier felt like she would trade two boilers for a proper hydrophone.

_ping_

Trinitite waited for another moment, and then two. Two more volleys crashed around the slowing carrier as the Abyssal waited for the torpedoes to pass outside of their hearing range.

The enemy's homing torpedoes were nasty things, as her sister _Hypocenter _would attest. Trinitite had almost lost her when four of the things mangled her starboard side in the Bismarck Sea. Getting her to a drydock had been one of her worst experiences she'd had, until she'd lost everyone in the final battle over her home. She didn't have the support her sister had needed to get to safety, and if one of those torpedoes had hit the Destroyers chasing her would be given plenty of time to catch up and fill her with their own fish.

Another volley of shells descended, this one finally hitting home. Two more 5-inch shells plowed into the deck, one shouldering through her thinly-armored side as the other slammed almost in the center of her crew's hasty patch job. The carrier screamed as the explosions compromised the bracing her crew had thrown together, her free hand darting to her head as half of the patch caved in on the hangar. Almost belatedly, another report came in, reporting serious damage in her workshop, with her Galley and Laundry a complete loss.

Time to get moving again.

The water behind Trinitite sprung to life as her screws re-engaged. As much as she feared the torpedoes ahead of her, she couldn't afford to keep bleeding speed.

_Enemy aircraft above. One of those tiny human airplanes that doesn't seem to have a pilot._

Her Hell Diver had spotted an aircraft above. She wasn't sure if the bomber could intercept the peering enemy, but at least interrupting the spotting aircraft would-

Another salvo of shells dived into the sea, but instead of the two-to-five she'd grown accustomed to, _fifteen _plumes of spray rose at once. Trinitite was too shocked by the volume of fire to be sure, but they seemed larger than the the others. The enemy destroyers could shred her superstructure and crater her flight deck, but as long as Trinitite stayed outside of torpedo range they weren't a serious threat. Whatever _this _was? Trinitite's armor didn't feel so thick anymore.

The Wo-class was out of surprises, and the Navy just revealed one of their own…

* * *

**"But PyrrhicSteel! You said last snip was going to be the last naval chapter, and then you said this one was, but it doesn't look done at all!"**

**You are correct, hypothetical FF reader. I _did _say this was the last one. However, after finishing the chapter, I found myself staring at 9 pages of text, so I decided to split things up further. The next part is done, and just needs another editing pass before I post it. You can expect it tonight or tomorrow morning. I honestly expected all I've written so far to be 4 chapters when I was planning things out, but I guess I found myself asking "how was she supposed to get to the US again?" and explaining that took a lot longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this, even though it wasn't what I've advertised so far.**

**Anyways, one of the interesting consequences of having the Navy being the antagonist is buffing steel hulls compared to other KC works starts to feel like a smart idea to a perspective author. A greater diversity in threats gives an author more tools to play with, and this snip sort of gave an overview of what those threats are to Abyssals (and how they deal with them). If I continue this past its premise or write a sequel, referencing this snippet would become pretty important.**


	10. We'll Get 'er Next Time

"_The air contact's heading for our drone_!"

Nashville cursed, staring at the screen in front of her. The enemy carrier had already pulled it's little teleportation trick by the time she was in the water and deploying her rigging, meaning she didn't have any time to prepare her floatplane before the shock from her own guns made such a task impossible. Instead, she'd used her device- calling the strange screen in her hands a _phone_ bothered her- to display the feed from the drone, using the machine's camera to spot for her. If that went down, she'd have to launch her own floatplane- and doing so would mean a break in her fire that they couldn't afford right now.

The Wo-Class Carrier was closing on the shore, A wedge of billowing clouds pointing to the carrier's smoke stack. Alone, the _Benfold _and Nashville couldn't fire through the smokescreen- with her prewar equipment her radar wasn't nearly good enough to direct her 6-inch rifles, and Abyssal Smoke was completely opaque to the DDG's sophisticated sensors, so loosing that drone meant the Carrier was getting to shore, full stop.

She'd read up on the Wo-Class before: These massive fleet carriers were the size of some of the largest carriers launched in the war, although their actual setup varied widely. Some carried no catapults, forced to turn into the wind whenever they launched aircraft, while others carried up to two. Their secondary armament was all over the board, from enough guns to rival some cruisers to almost none at all. Their decks…

Nashville fired off another salvo, holding the phone against her breast to prevent it from being jolted out of her hand and thrown into the sea. She might have been mistaken, as the Abyssal's nature meant the feed had trouble displaying both it's humanoid and hull forms, so picking out details was difficult at best. After a followup volley from her secondaries, Nashville brought the screen back into view and confirmed her suspicions.

She was no Carrier expert, but Nashville was pretty sure no flight deck was supposed give way in it's center, slumping like an old barn into the hangar deck. Between them, the Farragut sisters sported 15 five inch guns, and their late-war radar and fire control meant they must have scored several hits, but completely collapsing the Flight Deck? The Light cruiser couldn't imagine how damage like that could happen.

Nashville's broadside thundered again, her gunners scrambling to reload her 6"/47 rifles. "Uh… _Benfold_, this is Nashville." The light cruiser stated, keying her radio as she watched the drone's feed.

"_Nashville, this is Benfold. Go ahead._"

"_Benfold_, I'm seeing some odd damage on the Alpha-Sierra." Nashville reported, watching the feed for her shellfall. "It's deck seems to have caved-in, can you confirm?"

Her timer clicked over the expected fifteen seconds, and the Light Cruiser scowled. Her volley must have landed in the smoke, then.

"_Nashville, we can confirm the damage on the Alpha-Sierra. Looks like the Farraguts hit something important_."

"Yeah. Remind me to buy them something later."

With a stutter, the drone feed abruptly cut out. Nashville sighed, holding her next volley as her flight crew rushed to a waiting floatplane. It wouldn't get in the air in time, but firing blind would be just as useless. The Abyssal was going to get away.

"_Benfold_, this is Nashville." The Brooklyn-class cruiser started again, turning to the distant fishing boat. The RHIB was stationed alongside the trawler, leading the rest of the Pacific Lilly's crew to be inspected aboard the _Benfold_. "Permission to land ashore and continue searching on foot?"

"_Wait one, Nashville_." The destroyer's communication's officer replied, resignation clear in his voice. "_High's pursuing other options_."

What, were they going to call the Army? If High was trying to keep this secret, asking the Washington National Guard to deploy didn't seem like a good way to keep a lid on things. How do you fight an Abyssal on land, anyways? Nashville knew it happened, but she never read into it.

The Abyssal's crazy gambit had worked. She might be too damaged to pose a threat to a military base or port, but the media certainly weren't going to see it that way. Unless the Navy executed a major cover-up, Nashville foresaw her first naval battle ending in a national panic.

As the Light Cruiser stewed, She could already imagine the talking heads on television summoning panels of 'experts' to tear down every decision they had made, spreading words of doom and gloom now that a single abyssal had set foot on the mainland. Even if the Abyssal failed to hurt anyone, the task force's failure would be a national disgrace, and Nashville was an embarrassment to her class and the Navy. And what if the Wo-Class did manage to evade them and complete her scheme? What was she planning, anyways?

_Nothing good for us, that's for sure._

* * *

Trinitite hurt.

As the water below the Abyssal's feet gave way to sand, she couldn't help but groan.

Her boilers had been at flank for too long, and ached for a rest. Her airways were dirty from all the smoke she had been producing, and the abyssal found herself frequently racked by coughing fits. Her deck had been mangled, five-inch shells making a mockery of her ad-hoc repair work. Her hangar had taken so much damage she wasn't sure she _had _an air wing anymore. With the damage to her galley, Trinitite was already starting to feel hungry. A report claimed that equipment in her machine shop could be repaired, but that still meant any other repairs she needed would be delayed. As a small mercy, her superstructure hadn't been hit by anything more than shrapnel, but that just meant she had a clear view of the damage.

That was something she could worry about when she wasn't being shelled. As she scrambled up the beach, her rigging still spewing smoke, another cluster of shells slammed into the ridge in front of her. Dirt, stone and sand flew into the air as trees toppled over, tapping out an uneven rhythm as they bounced off the Wo-class's rigging. Her heels and cane dug into the sand as she ran, slowing her dash to the woods ahead to a depressingly slow stumble.

As the sand gave way to a carpet of dead wood, Trinitite found her progress slow even further. Her heels, normally great at cutting through the ocean's waves, found themselves catching on the odd branches and the Carrier had to catch herself with her cane with embarrassing frequency. By the time she was scrambling up the steep, brush-covered hill, Trinitite realized the enemy's artillery had gone silent. Apparently they didn't want to shell their own land.

As the Wo-Class dived into the forest across the road, she sent a final transmission to her hell diver and dissolved her rigging. The crew would have to bail over the forest, with the hope that Trinitite would run into them while she ventured further inland. It was a slim chance, and Trinitite hated the idea that she might never find them, but the need to get as far inland as possible trumped the need to recover a few volunteers for a suicide mission. If she was going to get on with the next part of her plan, she had to make distance from the shore, and fast.

Without realizing it, the out-of breath Abyssal started laughing. She was walking on land, in the interior of one of the most protected human nations in the world! She imagined the look on the faces of some Princesses if they realized that mere fodder like her had managed something they had been trying to do for years. She was the first Abyssal to do something like this, right? It hadn't gone to plan at all, and Trinitite had probably gotten close to death more often then she realized, but that meant the worst part was merely behind her. It had to be smooth sailing from here.

Now, where was her Princess?

* * *

**Serpentine, Wo, Serpentine!**

**Here's the last part of the chapter, which was supposed to be one chapter, but instead ballooned into three. Now there isn't a Navy between Trinitite and Shenanigans, the _real _fun can start.**


	11. Gathering Intelligence

Nashville stumbled, her heels struggling to find purchase on rough ground below. A layer of moss covered exposed roots and uneven rocks below her, leaving the shipgirl wishing she'd grabbed a good pair of boots before leaving for Bikini. At least the Wo couldn't be outpacing her with those stilettos of hers.

Ultimately, Nashville hadn't waited for a response from High before rushing ashore. While the Navy formed a committee on the issue or something, the Light Cruiser launched both her floatplanes and followed the Abyssal Carrier ashore. By the time Nashville had hit the Washington beach, the Farragut sisters in tow, her plan had received approval from command, but the enemy Abyssal had enjoyed over an hour to hike away from them. The Abyssal couldn't walk at anything approaching her cruising speed, but the literal rainforest that defined Olympic National park would make spotting her via Nashville's floatplanes difficult, at best.

Still, the Brooklyn-class wasn't going to do nothing while an Abyssal ran loose in Washington. Until she learned the Navy had a plan to deal with the monster, she was going to be out here, searching. Her orientation course after getting summoned didn't include any tracking classes, and this was the first time she'd wondered out in the wilderness like this, but there was a _chance_ she'd stumble into some kind of hint, so she'd keep looking.

_Pop!_

Nashville jumped as the distant gunshot echoed through the forest and off the leaves above her. Speaking of chances…

Before she'd realized it, Nashville was scrambling towards the noise. Had someone found the Abyssal? Judging by the pitch of the sound, that was far too light for one of the guns the Wo was packing.

_Pop! Pop!_

The gunfire continued as Nashville wove between trees, the sporadic firing keeping her from getting lost in the unfamiliar environment. As she ran, one of her shoes slipped on a loose rock, sending the cruiser sliding across the forest floor.

_Pop!_

Resolving to pack survival gear in her hold the next opportunity she could get, Nashville jumped back to her feet, ignoring the green and brown stains that now decorated her uniform. There only seemed to be one firearm, and it had been shooting for a while. Was the Abyssal chasing someone?

When she finally found the source of the gunfire, she expected to have her questions answered, but when the shooter first appeared from behind a cluster of volcanic rocks, the exact opposite happened.

The fairy, clad in a colorless pilot's uniform, brandished a pistol no smaller than Nashville's fingernails. It's stubbly little hands were extended above her, pointing the firearm directly upwards. The thing would fire a shot into the tree above her, waddle over to the tree's roots and jump as high as it's tiny legs would take her, scrambling at the bark before abandoning her attempts and running back to her original spot, firing again.

_Pop!_

Nashville slowed, trying her best to approach the scene quietly. Her skill in stealth left a lot to be desired, with her rigging brushing against stray branches and her shoes crunching against the detritus below. Fortunately the fairy didn't seem to notice, single-mindedly focused on the tree in front of her and the target above.

"_Hey! Hey!_"

_Pop!_

"_Hey!_"

As a second voice replied to the first one, Nashville's attention was abruptly drawn upwards. Above, a second abyssal dangled, her tiny parachute hung neatly over one of the branches. Farther up and closer to the trunk, a terribly disgruntled black bear clung, swaying in so far up Nashville wondered if it would give way suddenly.

The bear, who seemed much smaller than Nashville expected, would abandon its attempts to cling to the flimsy summit of the tree and would try to descend. The fairy would fire at it, however, shaking needles free from the tree and chasing the unfortunate animal back up. The pilot would then dash to the tree's trunk, frantically trying to climb up and save her comrade, but the desperate bear would once again descend and the fairy would resume firing at it. Every time the bear moved, the entire tree flew back an forth, tossing the dangling abyssal around further.

It looked like she wasn't returning to the _Benfold_ empty-handed.

"Hello there." She smiled, reaching up and plucking the stranded fairy like an underripe fruit. "I've got some friends I'd like you to meet." The Abyssal squirmed, her beady eyes squeezed shut as the light cruiser dropped her into the waiting squad of marines on her rigging.

_Pop!_

Nashville blinked as a bullet harmlessly ricocheted off her forehead, ruffling her bangs. The other fairy stood defiant, pistol trembling in front of her. The pilot stared back at the cruiser, her obscured eyes casting her goggles in a dull red glow.

"You're going to need a bigger gun, pal."

The Fairy's will broke, pistol dropping to the forest floor as the thing waddled away from the cruiser. The Abyssal's flight was abruptly terminated by an exposed root, however, the pilot tumbling over the obstruction to lay face-down in the dirt.

Nashville effortlessly caught up to her target, scooping up the prisoner and reuniting her with her comrade. She might not find the infiltrating Aircraft Carrier any time soon, but with two POW's for ONI to squeeze, she suddenly wasn't feeling so bad.

* * *

Now that she wasn't getting shot at, Trinitite had to admit the strange forest was pretty interesting. She'd thought she'd seen all sorts of wildlife in southeast Asia and the Pacific, but the trees alone were like nothing she'd seen before. Some mirrored a type she was familiar with, but the majority were an odd tree that stood completely straight, with thousands of strange green spikes sprouting from its branches instead of proper leaves.

Unfamiliar creatures darted to and fro, some scampering up to the Abyssal before rushing back into a bush or up a tree. The unfamiliar calls of birds filled the air, a symphony of noise that Trinitite found oddly soothing. A good way to offset her discomfort.

Sharp rocks and those dead tree-spikes constantly poked and scraped the Carrier's bare feet, but she figured the discomfort was a fair price to pay. If she'd spent all her time in this terrain wobbling on her heels, she'd never get away from the navy. Besides, the inconvenience diverted attention from actual damage she'd taken.

It could have been a lot worse. It would take days for Trinitite's crew to get a full picture of how poorly her air wing had fared, but to say 20% of her aircraft could be salvaged felt optimistic. Without any working elevators, the point was a little moot, but restocking her air wing would be… _difficult_.

Despite her time escorting the Abyssal supplies, she wasn't quite sure where they had actually came from. The fuel, ammunition and material the Crossroads Fleet didn't trade for just… showed up once the proper facilities had been built. She was certain she couldn't build something like a warehouse alone, let alone unnoticed by enemy aircraft, and even then she wasn't a Princess. She couldn't say for sure, but Trinitite had a feeling anything she put together would be as dead as the base on Bikini had been, once her princess had left.

She would have to scavenge, then.

That was something she could worry about when she wasn't being actively followed. She could never be sure, but the Abyssal figured she would try and gain distance until after nightfall. They certainly would still be looking for her, but if Trinitite spent her entire time running from the Navy, she'd never actually find her Mother. She would start scouting for ports her Princess might be in tomorrow.

According to her charts, the peninsula she'd landed on had a major port opposite from her landing site, meaning she had a lot of walking in front of her, first. She had the supplies to get there, but-

The sound of wind in the trees and birds above was interrupted by a deep gurgle as Trinitite's quartermaster disagreed.

…One of the shells had struck her galley, hadn't it? She'd have restock on food long before she could reach the port.

The Abyssal stopped, taking another look around her.

Where in the deep was she supposed to find that?

* * *

The sailor who lead Captain Fred Kelley into the _Benfold's_ briefing room wasn't too intimidating. He imagined the man's M16 wasn't the best weapon for the ship's confined quarters, and the fact he alone was escorting Fred made the Fisherman think the Navy didn't actually consider him a threat. That was good, he guessed. When the _Pacific Lilly_ had been swarmed by armed men, he was expecting much worse.

The briefing room was empty, save for two figures. The first was a woman, sitting in a tight-fitting grey dress. Blonde-brown hair fell down to her shoulders, a particularly loose bang partially obscuring an unnervingly-bright blue eye. From the dress's rough material, odd cut, and strange decorations, Frank would have guessed she was a shipgirl even if they hadn't met on a missile destroyer. The woman's gaze snapped away from a laptop in front of the other occupant, focusing on Kelly, but the other man kept his eyes on his laptop.

"Captain Fred Kelly…" He stated, reading from the screen. The officer was young, his face unmarred by any hint of hardship or health concerns, but kept slim by constant training and exercise. In short, he looked like the majority of people he would expect to see on this ship. "Born in Newport, California. Family moved north to Anchorage, where you graduated from Dimond High School in 1988." If it wasn't for the older blue camouflage uniform, he would have mistaken him for any of the other sailors he'd seen aboard. "Am I correct?"

The man finally looked up from his screen, making eye contact with the Fisherman with a neutral face. Fred frowned, his brow stitching. He wasn't, and he had been reading from a screen directly in front of him.

"I'm from Westport, sir." the Captain replied, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his words. "Class of '83, as well."

"Correct." The Officer nodded to the guard behind him, motioning for Fred to take a seat across from the pair. The fisherman could feel his escort leave the room as he sat, the hatch behind them closing with a soft click. With his nametag no long obscured by a screen, 'Murray' leaned forwards, propping his elbows on the table.

"Mister Kelly, before we begin I would like to say no criminal charges are being considered in the course of this investigation. The events surrounding you ship and The Abyssal are unprecedented. Right now, your crew is confined to their quarters in case of any medical or anomalous effects that might come from interacting with the Abyssal. This should be temporary. Once a cover story has been agreed on, you'll be returned to Seattle, where the _Pacific Lilly_ will be waiting. You will be compensated for your time, of course."

This smooth talk might have calmed some of his employees' fears, but even if he hadn't been threatening Frank's life less than a day ago something about this man screamed 'untrustworthy.'

"And my cargo?" Murray was probably too skilled for unexpected questions to throw him off, but it was worth a try.

"We've had to confiscate that to ensure it hasn't been contaminated." The spook continued, shifting gears seamlessly. "You'll be compensated for that, as well."

"What'll happen if one of my crew starts talking?"

The shipgirl's face flushed, her eyes narrowing, but the Fisherman was focusing on Murray. A barely-visible twitch at the corner of his lip. a slight furrow in his brow.

"Then we'll take appropriate legal action." He replied, knitting his fingers in front of him. "Mister Kelly, once we have completed our investigation, our report will be issued to almost every navy on the planet. With so many people getting informed, it's only a matter of time before it's contents become public knowledge. After that, you and your people can talk as much as you like about it. We'll let you know when you can go public, but we will ask that you wait until we have enough information to present so we could avoid a panic."

That seemed reasonable. Frank nodded.

"Fair enough." Being belligerent wasn't going to help anyone, after all.

"Now, Mister Kelley. Describe the Abyssal's actions once she boarded your ship."

"Sure." He replied, leaning back in his chair. "You know the radio message she sent after boarding, right?"

"Yes."

"Well…"

As Fred Kelly recalled the Abyssal's behavior during her journey, his watched his audience carefully. The shipgirl, while initially apathetic, seemed to grow more interested as time went on, leaning towards Fred as he continued talking. The intel officer's face remained as neutral as ever, the man only offering the occasional question.

"So two of your crew asked the Abyssal why she was trying to enter the United States, and she responded?"

"Yeah." Kelly replied, nodding. "I could barely hear it from the kitchen, but I think she said she was looking for someone." The Captain hadn't meant to eavesdrop while preparing another meal, but he certainly didn't regret doing so. Hopefully the spook was telling the truth when he said they weren't considering criminal charges. If the Navy was looking for blame, the two sailors under Kelly would make a good target. Fred suppressed the guilt that tried to worm its way into his conscience, and continued. "You'll get a better account from them."

It wasn't like they had agreed on a false story for the Navy, anyways.

"Well, Mister Kelly, you've given us a lot to think about." The Spook stood, followed by his shipgirl companion. "I'll see if I can get some of your restrictions relaxed as we sail to Everett."

The guard was waiting outside. He motioned for Kelly to follow him, but Murray interrupted him before he turned.

"Oh, and before you lead Mister Kelly to his quarters, let him grab a meal from the Galley. Let the next one get a meal from there, as well."

"Aye Aye." He responded, before starting down the corridor again. After the odd pair disappeared back into the briefing room, the guard piped up. "Guess they liked what you had to say."

"Happy to help." He replied.

It was the first lie he'd said aboard. Why did talking about the Abyssal feel so much like betraying her?

Did _an Abyssal_ just give him Stockholm Syndrome?

* * *

**Abyssal fairy's a cute.**

**Not much to say here. I'm mostly going to be spending this section working with getting Trinitite to civilization, as well as sorting out what the Navy's going to do.**

**It should go fairly quickly, as there's a lot of fics out there that go over Shipgirl Survival (Mostly SI's). I'll be skimming over a lot of stuff I've seen before. Being in rural Washington instead of the south pacific should give me plenty to talk about, however.**

**It also gives me an excuse to title a chapter "Improvise. Adapt. Wo-vercome."**


	12. Interlude: Briefing

Joint Base Lewis-McChord was alive with activity. Nashville was too airsick to dwell on specifics, but when the cruiser had stumbled out of the Navy helicopter she'd been swarmed by people. The bustle of officers and airmen, coupled with the storm of noise that assaulted her senses, the Light Cruiser found herself focusing entirely on her headache. She nodded when she thought someone was speaking to her, and followed the people who motioned for her to follow. When Nashville had truly regained her senses, she was inside, a solid wall between her and the noise outside, and an Airman showing her to a nearby water cooler.

"Where's Lieutenant Murray?" Nashville asked, gladly accepting a paper cup from her escort. The Spook had been with her on the flight over, but he'd disappeared in the chaos between their landing and now.

"Debriefing General Hudson, sir." The young man replied, accepting the now-empty cup and refilling it. "He's formed a plan for dealing with the Abyssal, but he wants a Navy perspective on it. He would have called you in too, if…" He nodded towards the airfield, offering the refilled cup.

Nashville sighed, staring into her cup of water.

"How long ago was that?"

"About two, three minutes?" The Airman replied, speaking up again as the Brooklyn grimaced. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted." She replied, fairly sure it wasn't necessary.

"Every ship gets airsick, and it was a rough ride here. Nobody blames you for a headache." That wasn't entirely true, as carriers seemed to handle it just fine, but Nashville didn't feel like correcting him.

"Not good enough." Nashville mumbled, downing the cup in one swig.

"I'm sorry?"

"Not good enough." She repeated, handing the cup back to the man. "That was my first gun battle with another ship, you know? I spent all war swatting aircraft and cleaning islands, but I never found a surface ship to shoot at. Lord knows I tried."

Maybe it was the airsickness. Maybe she hadn't had enough sleep between now and Bikini. Maybe it was the knowledge she'd probably never meet this random zoomie again and didn't give a fuck about his opinion, but for some reason she felt the words keep coming.

"Now, my first target waves her carrier-sized ass at me from point blank, and I can't hit the broad side of a barn." She was being hard on herself, but there wasn't any regulation about being rational when you were venting. "Christ, some flagship I am. What'll Honolulu think? What the hell am I going to tell Phoenix or Boise, when they return?"

Of course, the Airman stayed silent. The rhetorical question hung in the air for a few seconds, before he finally pointed at Nashville's cup.

"Want me to-"

"Just grab me one of those." She cut the man off, waving at the deep blue jug atop the reservoir. "It'll save you some time."

* * *

The briefing room was practically empty. With only seven officers crammed into the front row, a smaller office probably would have worked just as well.

"Gentlemen, I guess you have suspicions as to why I called this briefing."

After NORTHCOM had been alerted to the situation in the Olympic Peninsula, they had dropped the issue in Lieutenant General Garrett Hudson's lap. Since the start of the war, the military base's duties had drastically changed, growing from a logistical command to a more strategically-oriented one.

A map of the eastern pacific was projected behind the general, highlighting his arm as he pointed towards the ocean.

"Three days ago, at 1421, a Fishing Trawler was boarded by a Wo-Class Abyssal." Sweeping his hand across the wall, the General continued. "Using the trawler's crew as hostages, the Wo-Class Abyssal approached the mainland, and after a short gunfight made landfall on the Olympic Peninsula. She's since disappeared into the forest park, and our job is going to be finding her.

"That leads to our first mission concern: with La Palma still fresh on the public's mind, news of a Wo in the Olympic Peninsula could cause as much damage as the Abyssal itself. Worst case, we're looking at mass panic in Seattle, Vancouver, and Portland. Not only would the chaos and congestion hinder our attempts to find this abyssal, there is a good chance we'll see an interruption in the efforts to to supply 7th Fleet and our Asian allies. This is not considering any consequences that may happen should our unwelcome visitor execute her plans."

Shame bloomed in Nashville's gut. Not only was her failure a disgrace to the navy and her class, but even if the monster starved to death in the forest people could die from the magnitude of their screw-up.

"I believe you all understand the importance of discretion. We're going to contain the Abyssal in the Olympic Peninsula, we're going to track her down, we're going to neutralize her, and we're going to do it in such a manner that it won't alert the public. Failure in any of these objectives is not an option.

"Thankfully, we have just the tool set to deal with her. Major General Manning's 7th infantry is here in full force right now, and should be able to establish a perimeter between Aberdeen and Kamilche. The highway will provide a vegetation-free line your men can monitor, while there's plenty of light pollution to assist your NV gear. If your infantry get eyes on the Alpha-Sierra, report it and trail the creature."

Nashville couldn't recognize the 7th's CO, but considering everyone else's glances, she could figure it out. The General was a surprisingly gruff man, his bald drawing attention to a scar that trailed down behind his ear. A lot of senior officers hadn't survived the opening stages of the Abyssal war, and if Nashville had to make a guess she'd think the grunt had almost joined that number.

"With the Navy and the 7th keeping her in the Olympic Peninsula, Colonel Walton's men will land at the Abyssal's last known location." Hudson continued. "Walton, how is the 2nd Ranger Battalion?"

The Ranger Colonel was about the same age as Murray, by far the youngest army officer in the room. Nashville had the suspicion the soldier hadn't held his position a year ago.

"I've got enough men for a manhunt, sir."

"Good." General Hudson nodded. "If anyone determines the location of the Abyssal, they're to avoid contact and call it in. Dealing with the Abyssal will be USS Nashville's job.

"Getting our Light Cruiser to the location of the Alpha Sierra will take time, however, and I'm told a Wo-Class has more horsepower than a Brooklyn, so as she's en route we'll be engaging her via aircraft. That's what the 190th is for. Major?"

Nashville had heard of the 190th fighter wing before, but she wasn't sure where. She felt herself sitting up somewhat as Major Goodwin spoke.

"The 190th has six 'hogs stationed at McCord. We could have two up constantly, but we can't hold that operational pace for long. We should be able to suppress her guns and keep her busy, but an A-10 isn't going to kill a Wo, especially on the ground."

Oh… one of the A-10 squadrons. Even though she'd only been in the modern world for a few months, she'd heard plenty about them. With its redundant equipment, titanium cockpit, and a gun that could cut a destroyer in half, the Warthog was one of the only airframes in the UN's inventory that could dive into abyssal AA screens and be expected to fly back out. Of course, that meant they'd been atritted to almost nothing by this point in the war. While the majority off the 190th was probably stationed elsewhere, the Light Cruiser would bet calling Major Goodwin's unit a 'fighter squadron' would be generous.

"It'll be good enough. I've been told the Navy has two alert-5 Hornets loaded with thermobarics at Whidbey Island. When Nashville has landed, they'll strike the Alpha-Sierra. The shock should stun the Abyssal while Nashville detains them. We take our first live Abyssal captive, the press gets some good news to offset the bad, and Japan gets its supplies on time."

So the fate of Washington, the next convoy, and the reputation of the military would boil down to a fistfight between shell-shocked Fleet Carrier and an airsick Light Cruiser. Lovely.

"Any questions?" General Hudson asked, before pointing at the Ranger. "Go ahead."

"You said this Abyssal took hostages?" Colonel Walton asked, before turning his attention to Murray. "Have Abyssals ever done that before?"

The spook shook his head. "As far as we're aware, this is a first."

That reminded her. Nashville brought a hand up, dropping it once Hudson nodded to her.

"We've seen her use civilians as a shield before. What is our plan if we find our abyssal in an urban area like Port Angeles?"

"If the Abyssal enters an urban location, we'll get a battleship from the navy. They tell me they couldn't afford to spare one on a weeks-long search, but if she's about to cause trouble in a town, you'll have plenty of backup." General Hudson replied. "Obviously we'll be calling off the air strikes as well.

"Any more questions?"

Silence hung in the briefing room for a few seconds.

"Dismissed. I want an estimation of when you all can deploy ASAP. Good hunting."

* * *

**This was originally supposed to be a part of the next chapter, but I couldn't make it particularly funny and since it's mostly there to answer questions about the military response, I figured it would work best as an interlude. Hopefully I made it work better with some Nashville characterization and a bit of exposition about the rest of the world. A good portion of the next bit is already done, so expect it over the weekend.**

**Big thanks to those pointing out any errors I've been making (typos, technical mistakes, etc).**


	13. Improvise Adapt Wo-vercome

"Blegh."

Trinitite grimaced, pushing the freshly-downed tree away from her. She'd thought the rod-straight trees would make perfect planking to repair and brace her flight deck, but when she'd bitten in, she'd been overwhelmed by a strange, sticky substance that stuck to her hands and gummed her teeth together. She'd keep some of the strange wood in her hold, but if she actually wanted to use it it would need to dry and… be treated, somehow. Hopefully her fairies could figure things out once she got some actual resources.

Frustrated, Trinitite stood, her aborted meal disappearing in the darkness. It was midnight, and a low blanket of clouds ensured she was walking in pitch darkness. With only the glow from her eyes to guide her, she was having trouble making distance. Focus on the trees and bushes ahead of her, and she would find herself tripping as the rough ground pitched up and down. Focus on her feet, and by the time she'd noticed low-hanging vegetation A branch would be painfully jamming itself into the hole in her deck. She tried to keep an eye on her compass, but as the ground got more treacherous it became harder and harder pick a direction and stick with it.

On top of it all, if she didn't find food soon it wasn't going to matter. She had plenty of fuel left. Thanks to the ride the fishermen had given her, she'd been running on only one boiler and had much more fuel than she'd predicted. It was going to take a while before she had to worry about that, but she couldn't use oil for repairs and rations. There were plenty of creatures, but without giving her position away with guns or aircraft she had no idea how to hunt them. Maybe she could lay some sort of trap…

_Contact, astern!_

Trinitite spun at her lookout's call, her tentacles flailing to prevent her from falling in the uneven terrain. There, startlingly close to The Abyssal, a pair of eyes reflected the light from her own.

Trinitite froze, her boiler pressure spiking as the carrier returned the thing's stare.

"EHAAAAAAAaaaAAA!"

Alarms blared in Trinitite's mind as the unnatural scream filled her awareness. The carrier lept backwards, replying to the scream with one of her own. What kind of creature was this? Was she getting stalked by another Abyssal? Perhaps she'd run into some supernatural entity that lurked in these woods, and her trespass was about to be repaid. Despite bristling with weapons, covered in armor, and enough horsepower to break a stone in half, she suddenly felt vastly outclassed.

So she ran.

Almost immediately, a weight fell on her back, claws wrapping around her shoulders as she realized how terrible a mistake she'd made.

As the abyssal was thrown to the ground, she found visions of her princess passing through her mind. Fangs dug into her hair, hooking around her ear as she slammed into a particularly sharp rock. Was was finally going to manage what the Navy could not?

_I'm sorry, mother._

…Hold on, the thing's claws weren't digging any deeper, and the creature's dull teeth had failed to pierce her skin. A fang had hooked into her ear, and while it hurt it wasn't tearing anything.

Trinitite wasn't nearly flexible enough to reach the monster on top of her with her hands. Her tentacles were free, however.

The creature recoiled, scrambling against Trinitite's cape, but it was too late. She'd gotten a solid hold of the the thing's neck.

It was time for some revenge. As an added bonus, it seemed Trinitite wasn't going to starve this week.

* * *

"What do you think?"

Mark Little was too old for the military, and even if he wasn't he probably wouldn't have signed up. National parks weren't seeing as much attention as they once did, but keeping them safe for future generations was vital. The war would eventually end, and when that happened people would appreciate having a national park to return to.

This, though…

"I'm not sure."

Mark, along with his partner Jess, had been called in by a backpacker who'd been babbling about 'strange noises in the night' and a 'really weird carcass.' When they'd first responded, the Rangers had no doubt he was just some college kid who saw his first dead deer. If he hadn't sounded so scared when he'd called them over the radio, the pair would have taken their time. When they were approaching at the backpacker's claimed location, though…

Both rangers agreed that finding parts of a Mountain Lion spread a mile from either side of the Queets river qualified as 'weird'.

Now, the two park rangers were pacing with the backpacker, following a trail that had been left in the woods. Where it wasn't marked by gore, shattered branches and overturned stones marked the creature's path, more than one bush suffering where the thing decided to shoulder _through _it instead of around.

"I've never seen something like this." Mark came to a stop, kneeling next to a shattered rib. "Nothing out here crushes their prey."

"Nobody's this picky about fur, either." Jess added, bending over a strip of ant-covered skin. When the backpacker knelt down next to her, she turned to address him. "What happened, again?"

"I was in my hammock…" The man stood, pointing downslope "...over there, when I got woken by this horrible screaming noise. I'm fairly sure it was this mountain lion."

When the park rangers had found the man, he was kneeling near the remains of a leg, bear spray clenched in one hand and radio in the other. His sky-blue jacket had made him easy enough to find, and it's hood was down, despite the rain. As they inspected the carnage, he kept looking away, eyes darting between the distant trees.

"It seemed pretty close, so I reached for my bear spray, but before I'd gotten ready I heard this big _crack_, like someone had ripped one of the trees in half. I had trouble getting back to sleep, but it was quiet for the rest of the night. If I hadn't stumbled upon this I wouldn't have called you."

"I'm not sure I can make a ruling on this." Mark replied, standing and patting the hiker's shoulder. "We'll take some pictures, then escort you back to the station, right?"

The hiker nodded. "Yeah."

The clouds above brightened as the two rangers collected evidence, the hiker nervously sticking to the pair.

A hip, also shattered.

Another bone, marrow removed and its fragments covered in unfamiliar scratches.

A muddy footprint, bare and disturbingly human.

Mark hadn't been certain when he'd started viewing the carnage, but the more he studied the site, the harder it had become to deny it.

"We need to close the park." He stated, interrupting the silence that had settled between the three.

"You're thinking this is…" Jess asked, trailing off as she examined another section of discarded fur.

"Yeah." Matt added, looking up at the hiker. "Sir, it seems that you've survived an encounter with an Abyssal."

The man's face went pale, his imagination no doubt painting all sorts of terrible ways last night could have gone. Matt had to agree. Somehow, one of those genocidal things was loose in one of the most popular national parks in the United States. Did the military know?

If this mountain lion was the first victim, who was next?

* * *

"_...And I'll kneel down,_

"_Know my ground_,

"_And I will wait I will wait for you..._"

The airwaves in Human territory were cluttered with… Trinitite wasn't sure what. As she made her way southwest, she started picking up more and more transmissions, growing as she ascended ridges and fading as she wandered into valleys.

The Abyssal was completely flummoxed as to the purpose of these. They didn't follow any communication protocols she knew, and all the noise they were making certainly didn't help get their message across. If there even was one. She was fairly sure there was some meaning to the weird babbling that emanated from her receiver, but when Trinitite tried to focus on what was being said she just found herself frustrated by pointless vaugeries and repetitions.

"_...I can feel the rain reminding me,_

"_In the eye of the storm, You remain in…_"

Who would put so much effort into ensuring the ravings of the insane were broadcast for everyone to hear? From the sheer number of these transmissions she had to guess they were either extremely common or incredibly powerful. Either this… alien habit was endemic among humans, or they were willing to build and power massive transmitters for the sole purpose of transmitting it.

Was it for navigation? No, they had that 'GPS' thing that had to be much more reliable.

Was all of this information so useless? She couldn't stop sifting through them, but these transmissions were giving her a headache.

Maybe that was because of her hunger. The creature that had attacked her was tough, stringy, and didn't sit too well on the Abyssal's digestion. Briefly, she wondered how it would have tasted if she'd let a human cook and prepare it, but she quickly suppressed the thought.

Although, this was going to be a stealth mission. Perhaps entertaining such thoughts would be useful.

The animal also wasn't nearly enough to keep her fed. She estimated it gave her another week, after which she wasn't sure what the plan was. The human navy was fairly large- and apparently it was a fraction of a much larger population, even when grouped with the Army and Firebringers. She'd have to figure out how they got their food and copy that.

"_...I've got to be free!_

"_Free to face the life, that's ahead of me._

"_On board, I'm the captain, so climb aboard…_"

If she could make it, that is. Even with her food supplies depleted by the gunfight off the coast, she had thought she could make it to the port across the western bay. However, the dense mountains she was walking through significantly increased her travel time, and while she'd seen thicker vegetation in the south pacific she'd never tried marching through it.

That meant, even with her latest meal, she wasn't feeling confident about getting to the distant port. Add in another encounter with the Navy, and even if she got out she was going to starve.

She still wasn't any better at hunting, unless she was willing to give away her position by shooting. If things got desperate, she was still armed, and the way she saw things risking detection was better than guaranteeing a death by starvation.

"_Come on, dance, jump on it_

"_If you sexy then flaunt it,_

"_If you freaky then own it…_"

Okay, what did that even mean? What kinds of machines produced those noises? She was loosely reminded of the strange tunes and calls she'd heard from birds over her life, but she didn't pretend to understand those either. Radios were for conferring important information to distant individuals. Without the safe use of her aircraft, listening to their transmissions was the closest thing to actual reconnaissance she was going to get, but the surreal nature of these broadcasts was making it hard for her to think straight. Was everything in this collection of frequencies as weird as this?

"_...the most disastrous war policy we've seen since Vietnam!_"

Hold on. This person was speaking in a natural, if animated tone, and seemed to be discussing the war.

Perfect.

"_Coming up, we've the defense industry's aggressive lobbying in Congress, as well as a deeper look into our refugee crisis. You're listening to the Ron Martin show, see you after these messages._"

More of the strange noises came up, but Trinitite stayed on that frequency. The transmission was fairly faint, meaning while she wouldn't be able to hear it while she crossed this valley, it seemed the most useful transmission so far. She'd listen in for a few hours, and hopefully she'd get an idea of what she was running into.

"_The future of printing is here!_"

…or she might get more confused.

* * *

**That's right, folks, I'm bumping up my chapter batch count from 2 to 3! This is done so you can catch up to where my fic is faster, and thus I can better implement your feedback from reviews and PMs. At the new pace, you should catch up to SB/my first draft around chapter 17 (plus a few complete and planned interludes). **

**This chapter I reminded myself why I never listen to political talk radio. Mentioning certain political topics in the future (refugees, immigration, etc) will be unavoidable, but in a effort to both give an even-handed portrayal (and not straw-man any particular point of view) I won't be approaching it through radio.**

**Anyways, when I started writing this I wasn't too exited about portraying "fish out of water" jokes. I've read so many GATE fanfics that writing a character oohing and aahing at everything they run into seemed pretty cliche. However, an abyssal has a much different outlook on civilization and culture, as well as several ways to experience it that just aren't available to your average "trapped in the real world" fantasy character, as well as powers that mean they won't be impressed by _everything_. That's got me a bit more exited to write, really. It should be pretty unique.**


	14. The First Victim

Nashville wouldn't say the situation had _improved_, but it seemed to have stabilized. The Rangers had caught the Abyssal's trail within minutes of their landing, and were making astonishing progress across the perilous terrain of Olympic National park. The deployment of the 7th Infantry had gone without a hitch, and now a wall of camera traps, drones, and grunts separated the Olympic Peninsula from the rest of Washington.

Panic didn't seem like it was going to be an issue. Operation Absolute Railway was announced to the public in an unassuming press release, and it seemed few news outlets thought a readiness exercise in the middle of a world war was worth their time.

Of course, all of that would fall apart if Abyssal Aircraft flew out of the forest and leveled a small town within their search area. Time was of the essence, which is what made the Light Cruiser's next task so important.

When Lieutenant Murray and Nashville arrived at the interrogation room, they found it already prepared for them. As the ONI officer got set up on the other side of the two-way mirror, Nashville entered the room proper.

Perhaps as some kind of joke, someone had scattered toy furniture across the fold-out table in the center, a saccharine version of the room's arrangement in miniature. As the ONI officer got set up on the other side of the two-way mirror, Nashville entered the room proper. Ignoring the chairs on either side of the table, the Light Cruiser brought her hand to surface and and allowed the four fairies on her palm to hop off.

The two marines landed first, the bayonets at the end of their miniature springfields twinkling as they walked towards the doll table at the center. Between them, the Abyssal fairy waddled, her beady eyes darting around the unfamiliar room.

The Abyssal Fairies were… strange creatures, even to Nashville and her crew. Staring at the Marines, or any of other fairies, she got the impression of something… suppressed. No, perhaps 'projected' would be a more accurate term for it. Behind each Fairy, some larger presence lingered, perhaps not truly aware it was lending its technical skills as it slumbered.

There was nothing behind the abyssal. Her fairies were like a distant mirror, reflecting the flickering light of a fire she couldn't see. The Wo's fairy was like an ember, burning on its own. It was disturbing, but Nashville wasn't sure how to read into it. Murray probably didn't see anything beyond glowing eyes and pale skin, so she'd have to get a second opinion from another shipgirl.

Behind the trio, Nashville's Intelligence Officer dusted herself off, straightening her uniform before turning to face the Light Cruiser.

"Hey."

Compared to other returned ships in the US Navy, Nashville didn't have much she could say she specialized in. Her service record, both in the last and current war, wasn't particularly unique. Her technical specifications were nothing special, especially as she was stuck with what she launched with. Her spanish skills were excellent, but in the US Navy Spanish-speaking shipgirls were a dime a dozen. However, she'd spent the majority of her life in the US Navy as a flagship, and it showed in her command staff. If any fairy in the US Navy could get information out of the Abyssal, her intelligence officer could.

"Go get 'er." Nashville whispered, flashing the fairy a salute. The two turned away from each other, Nashville taking her leave while the officer strutted towards the prisoner.

Murray was waiting for her when Nashville entered the observation room, one of those portable computers unfolded in front of him.

"Coffee?" He asked, motioning to a pair of styrofoam cups. Nashville wordlessly grabbed one, setting it aside a notebook Murray had placed in front of an open chair.

"Anyone done this before?"

Murray shook his head, eyes focused on the interrogation. The intelligence fairy had taken a leisurely path to the table, ensuring the Marines had plenty of time to get the captured pilot situated in her plastic lounge chair. The officer ignored her own, leaning over the tiny table between the two.

"_Hey._"

Huh. Nashville wouldn't have thought opening like that would have been a good idea, but she wasn't the professional. Maybe Murray could explain more to her later.

"_Hey, Hey Hey._" The intelligence fairy continued, taking his seat in the remaining toy chair. One second of silence. Two.

"_Hey._" The abyssal finally spoke, her puny arms crossed as she stared back at The Officer. "_Hey Hey. Hey Hey Hey._"

Okay, so name, rank, and serial number weren't particularly helpful, although it did raise plenty of questions. Was the fairy a Lieutenant when she came into existence?

What kind of name was 'Pilot?'

Did the abyssals have some sort of file with personnel numbers, or was this another example of the creatures imitating human methods without understanding them?

_At least they spoke English._

Nashville meant to ask Murray about it, but when she turned from the interview she found her thoughts suddenly derailed.

One of ONI's best abyssal experts was cradling his head in his hands, slouched forwards on the table.

Was he sick? They'd both been pushing themselves pretty hard since they first encountered the Abyssal. Was the stress getting to him?

"You okay?"

An exasperated sigh escaped the man's lips.

"I don't know what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

Murray stood, slapped his laptop shut, and took a hearty chug from his own cup of coffee.

"Take plenty of notes, okay?" He said, tapping Nashville's notebook. "I'm going to do something more useful."

"More useful? What could be more useful than-"

The realization hit her mid-sentence, and the Light cruiser's question devolved into a giggle. Fairy speech made perfect sense to her, but to regular humans? If the Lieutenant had thought he could understand the interrogation, he must not have been getting enough sleep.

The Spook rolled his eyes, turning and opening the door to the hallway.

"Sir?" Nashville added, her mirth fading almost as quickly as it had arrived. The Lieutenant stopped, once again staring at the Light Cruiser. "Get some shut-eye, alright?"

"Yeah." Murray replied, nodding and entering the hallway.

Now alone, the Light Cruiser once again turned her attention back to the interrogation. Good to know she wasn't the only one beating herself up about the Abyssal.

* * *

She wasn't listening to the radio anymore.

The first speaker spent over an hour ranting about various things, especially someone called "The President" and his policy in Hawaii. According to the speaker, his refusal to admit the Islands were a lost cause was costing the US vital men and war material, and that cost dwarfed the actual value of the islands.

Which was wrong.

Maybe it was because she'd spent so long guarding convoys, but Trinitite liked to think she had a mind for logistics. She never paid much attention to the topic, but she remembered the buzz around the Abyssals when the Hawaiian campaign had started. The steady supply of war material from the Americas to Australia was one of the greatest reasons the island hadn't fallen along with the rest of southeast asia, and the determination the humans had shown in holding Hawaii and the Pitcarns showed they knew that too.

The line kept the Abyssals of the Pacific from meeting with their allies in the Antarctic and Atlantic, correspondence limited to messages delivered via submarine or over the Indian ocean. Cutting it would change the face of the entire war, and Hawaii was step one in doing so. Her princess had said it often, and Trinitite had no reason to doubt it: if the humans were going to unleash The Fire on the Abyssals, it would be at Hawaii.

The talker stated he was out of time, ending his show, and Trintite was about to start scanning more channels when a completely different person took over.

"_This is your total information source: The Clay Buchanan show!_"

'Total information source?' That sounded promising.

It wasn't.

The new man on the radio reminded Trinitite much of the last speaker, although his intentions couldn't be more different. While the previous man spent minutes ranting about this president figure, this man spent minutes _ranting about people who ranted about the president_.

It made her head spin a little, but felt oddly familiar. She was often reminded of various princesses she'd see in her time escorting convoys, when one would pin her down as a target for venting. The mental image of the broadcaster and the Southern War Princess shouting at each other over a radio entertained the Wo-class as the host went on a tangent she couldn't follow, but a statement from the speaker brought her back to reality.

"_These things are demons. None of them will stop until there isn't anything left to kill!_"

That was wrong, too. Her Princess had certainly 'stopped.'

In another few hours, the speaker stepped down for another show. In his stead, a much calmer person took over the airwaves, speaking on his own and with people who joined him about something called… money? Apparently it was very important, and you wanted a lot of it so you could eliminate your… 'Debt,' which was apparently as evil they thought she was. Trinitite found herself drifting often during the broadcast, focusing on the wildlife around her instead. They were dedicating hours to the topic, so it must have been pretty important, but without any base understanding she couldn't really get a grasp of any of it.

Night began to fall, and a fourth show took over the transmission. This one seemed understandable enough, with a woman giving health advice. It wasn't particularly applicable to the abyssal, so Trinitite muted her radio and allowed her thoughts to wonder. She'd crossed two fairly serious rivers since she'd started listening, skirting around a few lakes and sticking to trees when the occasional aircraft flew over. Not all seemed military, but she recognized the silhouette of more than one flying cross. Odd, rumor had it the Humans had gotten rid of those. The Aircraft Carrier mentally added the tough birds to the overwhelming list of threats she'd been building.

She reactivated the radio after a few hours, to find the show changed again. The talk was centered more around the odd politics of the land she'd infiltrated. In other circumstances, she might have found it interesting, but by this point she'd stopped caring. Talk of Presidential Candidates, Senators, Governors and Congressmen filled the airwaves, and the Abyssal's apathy grew. Maybe she'd recognize a term in the future, and all of this would suddenly fit together, but for now she was getting frustrated. At least it was too dark for the enemy aircraft to effectively spot her.

That program ended as well, and if Trinitite had correctly calculated her location she guessed a new day passed. The radio changed again, and another person started speaking. She readied herself for more political talk that would go beyond her, but no amount of preparation would have adequately prepared her for the… oddities her antenna was picking up.

Aliens? Ghosts? Government conspiracies? The Aircraft Carrier found herself oddly enthralled, but there was so much unfamiliar vocabulary the Abyssal once again found her thoughts drifting. Her attention was abruptly grabbed, however, a particularly jarring call from a guest assaulted her.

"_So you're saying that the UN created the Abyssals?_"

"_Isn't it obvious?_"

What.

"_We've never been so close to a global army as we've seen now. They've unleashed these demons in the ocean to get you used to the satanic powers that created both the Abyssals and our so-called saviors. Think about it! The most powerful rituals require human sacrifice. What better way than letting the demons do the killing themselves?_"

The Abyssal tripped over a stone in the darkness, the caller's response completely derailing her attempts to navigate in the dark. She expected the host to laugh the caller off the air or berate them like she'd seen in the earlier political shows, but his response only frustrated the Abyssal further.

"_That's very disconcerting. What kind of ritual would need that-_"

Trinitite shut her radio off, fuming. Why would anyone believe that? Trinitite recollected her own first memories. The slow onset of senses. The a sudden pang of panic as she realized she couldn't breathe, before breaking the surface of the water. Her first, shuddering breaths. The confusion that ran rampant through her mind and crew.

_Bearing 174. Report._

_Something _had placed that command in Trinitite's mind, but she was certain it was no human. Human submarines could be frightfully difficult to find, but even they weren't good enough to regularly scatter Abyssals from the Bering Strait to the Southern ocean without constantly getting noticed by roving patrols. Even then, the infrastructure and logistics required been obvious even to the Pacific Fleets, doubly so from land.

A desire to set things straight burned in her for hours, the Abyssal wondering how to 'call' a radio show long after it probably ended.

In hindsight, her ignorance might have prevented her from doing something profoundly stupid. The host always said a caller was from one place or another, and giving her position away because somebody dirtied the airwaves with stupid ideas didn't seem like a good idea. Why did she care what the humans thought about her, anyways?

She didn't, right?

No, that wasn't it. She'd spent a day trying to collect information on this wavelength, and now she just learned she couldn't trust any of it. She'd had her suspicions throughout the day, but after that insanity she felt she couldn't trust the parts she had understood. It just wasn't good information, and if even a small portion of the information she'd been taking as viable intel was as inaccurate as what she'd discovered, it might be better to know nothing at all. Perhaps searching some of the other transmissions the humans cluttered their territory with would give more useful information, but even dead silence appealed to Trinitite more than that.

So, as the sun rose again, The Abyssal hiked with her radio off. She'd have to recon the old-fashioned way.

When she wasn't reviewing repair reports or watching her footing, there was still plenty of wildlife to enjoy. She crossed a dirt path, too narrow for any vehicle to use, and then another. The mountainous terrain hadn't seemed to change, but humans seemed to be determined to cover this part in paths of unknown destination. More than once, Trinitite was forced to dive into whatever foliage she could find, staying as still as possible as the occasional wondering humans followed the trail. She found herself cursing as her progress slowed, but ultimately she only lost a few hours.

The mountains came to an end, the twigs and strange leaves that constantly pricked at the Abyssal's feet obscured a layer of dry grass. Thanks to the more even ground, Trinitite found herself able to move at a light jog, the occasional fall a small price to pay for the increased speed.

This offset a new challenge presented by the forest, which abruptly switched between mature trees that towered over her and groves of saplings that were shorter than she was. Trinitite had to take constant detours to avoid sectors of the woods that were either too bare for her to risk crossing or too thick with young growth.

This time, night didn't truly fall.

The clouds above the trees glowed, some great light reflecting off them and illuminating the forest around Trinitite. As helpful as it was, the odd glow set the Abyssal further on edge, her imagination conjuring increasingly fantastic ideas as to its origin. Still, she approached. It proved to be a good decision, as cresting a hill put any of her fears to rest.

A town, nestled between a budding airport and a narrow bay, shown through the trees, buildings and roads radiating unnatural yellow-white light. She'd seen plenty of human towns in her life, but war and years of abandonment had left them as dry, dull looking husks. If a settlement this small was so radiant, how bright would the steel spires at Manilla have been? Macau? Singapore?

No matter. The quartermaster's reports were getting increasingly desperate, and every hour the pang in her stomach seemed to get deeper. Trinitite couldn't make a guess as to the town's population, but such a large group of humans would need a lot of food. After days in the wild, Trinitite was certain the environment couldn't provide it. That meant there would have to be some kind of logistics infrastructure that brought food in from the seaport, roads, and airport, and distributed it to the locals. If she could find just one unguarded part of that network, her supply problems were solved.

Her senses narrowed as she dismissed her rigging. It was time for some reconnaissance, which meant getting close to humans again. Hopefully, in the discolored light the humans created, anyone who sighted her would dismiss her as one of their own.

She would give the air and sea ports a wide berth. If the military was in this town, they would be there. Unfortunately, that meant weaving between the airport and another large compound, so bright it's own light equaled that of the rest of the town. A military base, perhaps?

Rounding the airport and cutting east, she emerged from the forest for perhaps the first time in days. In front of her lay a massive road, bustling with vehicles even at the late hour. Crossing it may be an issue, but beyond that…

"What's a Walmart?"

Two massive structures, larger than any warehouse she'd seen, dominated the other side of the road. The northern one shone with light, the odd word plastered across its front large enough that she could read it even at this distance. In a stretch of asphalt ahead of it, human vehicles clustered, parked in neat rows. She would have thought it a vehicle Depot if they weren't placed to irregularly.

The southern building was angled such that Trinitite couldn't determine if it, too, had letters in front of it. However, the asphalt lot in front of it was nearly empty, with the few cars that remained withdrawing at a fairly regular pace.

Trinitite wasn't sure of much these days, but if those weren't some kind of warehouse, she wasn't sure what would be.

It was time to resupply.

* * *

Every day, Elizabeth Clarke would wake up at 10:30 AM, to an empty house. Steven had already left for his own job. The kids were out, having long since caught their bus to Middle School. She would prepare her own breakfast, something simple, and get to whatever chores she'd set out for herself. Having inevitably failed to get everything she wanted done, Elizabeth would cook herself a little lunch, pack a dinner, and head for work.

She would tell herself her late-night job was helping her kids. Taking the late shift as the Store Manager opened up many other opportunities in Fred Meyers, carving out a shorter path to retirement and a better career in the future. Building a College fund for her kids would help them build a future for themselves, without having to get involved in the war.

Still, at times like these…

Elizabeth checked her watch and sighed, rubbing her forehead. 11:38. Besides her, the last employee had left 10 minutes ago. Adding the time it would take for her to get home, and it seemed like she was going to be crawling into bed after midnight. Again.

As Elizabeth made a final walk of the store, ensuring the lock on every entrance was engaged, she brought out her phone. Steven would be asleep by now, but keeping him informed was part of their ritual.

_Store's locked up_

_See you soon 3_

The employee parking area was desolate, streetlights illuminating empty pavement and the last car parked against the building: Her solitary grey sedan. The woman's hand strayed to her purse as she walked to her vehicle, grasping the canister of pepper spray she'd always kept there. The Walmart across Wallace Kneeland Boulevard was bustling with activity, and several restaurants on the block were still open, but all were still too far away to notice if she was in trouble. In her year working this shift, nothing bad had happened, but with her being this tired her imagination liked to run away from her.

Her half-lidded eyes drifted to her car as she approached. The old Camry needed an oil change, a tire rotation, and a trip through a car wash, but Elizabeth hadn't found the time to give it a proper service. Elizabeth swung the driver's side door open, attempted to rub the tiredness out of her eyes, and threw her purse inside. She really shouldn't be driving like this, but she couldn't think of any good alternatives. She'd pull over for a quick nap if her Audiobook wasn't keeping her awake.

Elizabeth climbed in, keys twirling in her fingers as she slammed the door behind her. At least, she tried to.

When the familiar _thunk _of a closing door didn't occur, the tired Manager yanked it again. And again. Odd, there shouldn't be anything blocking it…

Elizabeth turned back to her door in frustration, and froze.

Two glowing eyes, one orange, one blue, peered back into the car. Between her own drowsiness and the glow from the streetlamps, she hadn't noticed their reflection in her window, but now she was staring into them, their light seemed to fill her car's cockpit.

The pale, smooth face was framed from above and on either side by long, unkempt hair, as colorless as the monster's skin. Her neck was protected by a massive neck guard, composed of flat teeth the size of Elizabeth's palm. A hand gripped the Camry's door like a particularly stiff sheet of paper, effortlessly counteracting Elizabeth's efforts to close it.

An Abyssal. In Shelton.

A pair of cold lips parted, and the waking nightmare finally spoke.

"I need food."

* * *

**So, normally I'd explain the delay by complaining about writer's block or something, and while some of the chapter was pretty hard to write, I can't blame it on that. Going through Finals tends to curb your available writing time.**

**After I finished writing this chapter, I was intending to break it up and publishing it in slightly more manageable bits, but I couldn't find a good way to split it without rendering one of the chapters too short for my liking. Hope you don't mind the length.**

**On other matters, that's the end of the 'wilderness arc'! I feel like I could have written it to be much longer, but decided to shorten it because you're not here for a survival story, and I wanted to get to some _real_ shenanigans.**

**I was debating on weather to use real or fake corporations for a while, and while seeing Trinitite as an employee of the multinational conglomerate _McBurger Kong_ would be amazing, I eventually decided I could get more comedy using real names for corporations and the like. I'm not sure it's a good use of the reference, anyways.**

**Uh... for you not in the US or a part of the US where Fred Meyers operates, think of it as a less extra Walmart: Similar verity, smaller stores overall, safer Black Fridays, etc.**

**I tried to represent Talk Radio fairly, but at the end of the day we're hearing about it from an overwhelmed Abyssal's point of view, so only the weirdest stuff sticks out.**


	15. The Shelton Raid

Elizabeth had to be dreaming. At some point in the last couple minutes, she'd nodded off and started hallucinating.

That was why she was within two feet of a being that would kill her from over the horizon if it had half the chance.

That was why the monster had just spoken to her, stating a fact like she was talking about the weather.

That was why several good pulls still failed to close her door…

"This building has food, yes?"

The monster who'd was preventing her from leaving was still there, staring at her. Compared to those fluorescent eyes, the rest of her face was a dark silhouette, but her killing intent was pretty clear.

"Yes." She nodded numbly.

"Good." The Abyssal replied, turning. "Come with me."

When a creature that could throw you through the nearby wall gives you an order, you follow it. Elizabeth scrambled out of the car, almost tripping onto the pavement as she attempted to catch up with the Abyssal. The employee parking was adjacent to a rear exit, but with how powerful she'd heard abyssals to be she doubted the aluminium door would provide much more resistance than a glass one. Since she was breaking into her store anyways, Elizabeth would do best to unlock it her before she caused any property damage. She just needed her keys, which…

She spun, looking back at her car. In her hurry to catch up with the monster, she'd left her purse behind. She'd run back and grab it, but the abyssal should be trying to kill her already. Running away didn't seem like a good survival strategy.

"Wait!"

The Abyssal paused, an outstretched hand only inches from obliterating the door. The Thing's eyes cast too much glare in the darkness for Elizabeth to read her face, but she was certainly looking at her, now.

"There are… Alarms on the door. If you pull it open without my keys, it'll alert the police."

The Abyssal stared back at her, dead silent. She was obviously angry with her. Abyssals were angry with everyone. Had she pushed her too far?

"What are Police?"

It took a few seconds for Elizabeth to wrap her head around the question. Abyssals didn't have police. That was odd, but it left her without any good reference to respond. How could she phrase this in a way a hate-monster from the ocean could understand? She was regretting avoiding the dreadful topic in the years since the war began.

"Police are the people who'll call the Navy."

"Ah!" The Abyssal exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

_We._

"Where are your keys, then?" The monster asked.

Elizabeth pointed back to her car, backing away from The Abyssal. When the monster didn't seem to object, she turned and ran the rest of the way. Driving away wasn't an option- she'd kill her, or she'd let her go and ruin her store anyway. However, inside her purse…

Finding the keys to the store was a simple matter, but she wasn't done after pocketing them. Opening her purse, the manager started hustling through the contents. Her wallet was useless, of course. The small canister of Pepper Spray couldn't be nearly enough to deal with an abyssal. What she needed was… _There._

Failing to get her trembling hands under control, Elizabeth fumbled with her mobile phone. Light filled the Sedan's cabin as the phone activated. _Somebody_ had to know what was going on. She couldn't do this for long without the monster noticing, but dialing 911 wouldn't take long at all.

"What's that?"

"Eeep!"

Elizabeth jumped, almost slamming into The Abyssal which was _right behind her_. Staring over her shoulder, at her phone.

She was going to die here.

* * *

The human was toying with another one of those strange devices. Trinitite recalled something about 'cell towers' and 'contacting' from the _Pacific Lilly_, but never really learned its name or purpose. Some sort of communication equipment?

"Uh…" The human was staring back at her, having dropped the thing on her seat. "That's a… it's…"

"Were you 'calling the Navy'?" It seemed like the logical choice for her. She'd said its what the 'police' would do, and they _were_ at war, after all.

"No!" She replied, a little too quickly. "Not at all, I was just using the light to help look for my keys!"

Right. Beyond the glow from the device and her own eyes, Trinitite noticed the vehicle's internal lights were on.

"Not everyone has glowing eyes to… uh…"

"Do you have them?" Trinitite questioned, moving on from the topic. She would need the human to get into the warehouse for supplies, but obviously she couldn't trust her. Maybe summoning her rigging so she could have lookouts on the woman would be a good idea.

"Yes." The human replied, nodding.

"Let's go, then."

The warehouse seemed much smaller on the inside. As the human activated the building's internal lighting, she immediately noticed the opposite wall standing far too close for the building she was in. Was the warehouse split into several small rooms? Who would do something like that?

"Is this it?" Trinitite demanded, overviewing the shelves stacked with labeled boxes. Useful, but...

"This is just the loading area." The human replied, flinching when Trinitite turned to look at her.

"What else is there?"

"The-" The uniformed woman stopped, taking a moment to swallow. "The Store."

* * *

Under better light, the Abyssal didn't seem quite as terrifying. With the store's lights completely illuminating her, the monster's skin and clothes looked less 'ethereal' and more 'plastic,' like a sci-fi monster prop seen off set. Was that strange neck guard made out of _actual_ teeth? Her glowing eyes, no longer the only source of light, failed to obscure her emotions, and Elizabeth found reading the monster's human expressions easier than she thought.

Elizabeth wasn't sure they had any emotions beyond 'brooding' and 'angry', and seeing the Abyssal's stern face when they had entered the loading area failed to challenge her assumption. All of that changed when they'd left the employee area and opened the door to the store proper.

The monster came to an abrupt stop, The manager almost bowling into her dark cape. With the door half-open, she had to lean around the The Abyssal to get a look at her face.

Her eyes were wide, rapidly darting between aisles and the products they contained. Her mouth had flopped open, loose as the Abyssal's face lit up in amazement.

"Is all this… food?"

"No?" Elizabeth replied. "I mean, this part of the store is dedicated to foodstuffs, but the rest-"

"What all do you have here?" The Abyssal cut her off, leaving the doorway and pacing the Dairy aisle.

"A lot." Elizabeth answered, unsure if the monster actually expected her to list off their catalogue. The Abyssal grabbed a yogurt container from the shelf, turning the plastic up in her hands like an ancient artifact.

The way she examined the cup of yogurt, an undisguised sense of wonder plastered on her face, reminded Elizabeth of a kid in a candy shop. The fact Elizabeth knew the monster could tear her in half only made things more surreal.

Without warning, the monster bit into the plastic container, sending globules of strawberry-dyed yogurt splattering across Elizabeth and any products nearby. The sudden motion caused the manager to yelp in surprise as The Abyssal's face twisted in disgust. In a moment, the plastic chunk of container was resting on the floor, a trail of yogurt and saliva marking where it had impacted and slid across the floor.

"What is that?" She turned, the yogurt-filled hand pointed at her aborted meal.

"Plastic." Elizabeth replied. "You're not supposed to eat it."

"I figured that." She stated, wiping the pink off her face with her cape. "Good Aluminum, though."

Maybe 'bull in a china shop' would be a more accurate metaphor.

* * *

_This was amazing_.

There were so many flavors! So many Textures! So many colors! Beyond the water, bunker oil, and avgas she'd had for all her life, there were a million different drinks! She didn't have any time to try every soda, juice, milk, beer, wine, oil, and sauce, so she found herself darting down the aisles, storing one of every bottle, can, and jug she could find in her hold. If she ever lost the fleet chasing her, she'd make a point of trying it all. The same went for the canned goods, all kinds of meats, some "bread" stuff, and a million other things that the human told her was food.

They also had _Ice Cream_, like what Mother would occasionally hand out to the fleet. When Trinitite was beating herself up over letting one of her sisters get injured, or one of the cruisers had lost a floatplane in training, or if everyone was thinking about the destroyer who hadn't come home last sortie, she'd be there with several cups and plenty hugs. The temptation to clean the warehouse's shelves had been enormous, but The Abyssal resisted. That was Her Princess's food. When they'd reunited she'd ask for some more.

Assuming that thing that walked out of Bikini was still Her Princess.

They had fruit, too! In the Abyssal fleets fruit was a cherished possession, and the Wo sisters always made a point to bring back fruit when they returned from a successful supply run. Not only did Her Princess love them, but those who'd stayed behind were willing to do all sorts of favors for a slice of Pineapple or Mango. For Nostalgia's sake, Trinitite plucked a few pineapples, instead one. She'd save the second for when she found Her Princess.

The labels themselves had been very useful, but the numbers below them… What was the point of those?

"That's money." The human stated when she asked, patting down a few pockets on her uniform. "I don't have any on me, but it should be fairly obvious when you see it. Someone gives it to you when you do a job for them, and you can exchange that for things you want in this store."

"So it's like a favor…" Trinitite started, imagining the process in her head. "...That you could give to anyone?" The human nodded, and the Wo-class reeled with the implications.

The Crossroads Fleet normally dealt through The Supply Depot Princess at Mindoro, but often they had been forced to work with… less acceptable fleets in order to get specific supplies. If they had this 'money,' they could just give a sum of the stuff to those Mother didn't actually want to help, and the other party could go to a like-minded fleet for help.

"That's brilliant!" She exclaimed. Oh, if this 'money' existed in the abyss how many problems would have been solved! "So you use this 'money' to motivate the people who, say, collect fish?" Trinitite redirected her attention to the human.

"That's right."

"And then you turn around and offer it to everyone else in this city, using this warehouse?"

"Yes."

A perfect scheme. Someone collects and delivers food to the city, and everyone else, who were busy with their other human tasks, only had to walk a few miles to get their supplies. All this person had to do was maintain the warehouse and set the required money right.

"How do I get this 'money'?"

The woman opened her mouth, before closing it with an audible click. It couldn't be that hard, else they wouldn't have so much fresh fruit here. It would go bad before anyone got it!

"Well?" Trinitite asked, taking a step towards the worker. With the human military chasing her, she didn't have much time to wait for people. It was difficult when there were so many new things to explore, gather and gawk at, but she needed to move with at least some speed.

"Uh-" The worker's eyes widened at The Abyssal's approach. "Um-" She started backing away, but the effort was aborted as she bumped into the apple stand. "Get a job?"

"How do I do that?"

* * *

_You're an Abyssal. You don't._

This thing had already stolen enough to bust the store's shoplifting budget for the next four months, and had only slowed down because she'd sampled everything in this half of the store. Elizabeth wanted to shout at the girl in front of her, chew her out for shoplifting, and ban her from Fred Meyers, but she wasn't dealing with some teenage punk. She was dealing with An Abyssal. The kind of creature that could throw her through the ceiling and enjoyed depopulating islands on her spare time. Humor her.

"Businesses like to put up signs that say 'help wanted'" Elizabeth started, unsure. The Abyssal nodded, motioning for her to go on. "Walk in and say you need a job. They'll ask you some questions, and give you a few tasks to do. Do those, and they'll give you money at the end of the week."

The answer seemed acceptable enough for the monster, because she soon turned and made her way to the other half of the store.

"This is where people trade in their money for the items?" The thing called over her shoulder, motioning to the check-out stations.

"Yes."

Elizabeth had plenty of memories at each one of those stations. At four, she watched a husband and wife get into an argument so heated one declared their intention for divorce. At eight, she'd been called to calm down an insane woman who just knew her 12-year-old coupons would be honored. She'd almost been assaulted at twelve. However, in her years in retail, she wasn't sure anything compared to this. If she survived, she'd have one heck of a story.

_If_ she survived.

"You have books here, too?"

Elizabeth's mind must have been wondering, as she hadn't realized they'd already passed the check-out area. That was another issue she had to deal with. The Abyssal was much more alert than she was, and every time she tried to fall behind the monster would stop and wait for her. She was trapped, until the monster no longer found her useful. After that…

Elizabeth shivered, suppressing the thought. What could she do until then? The abyssal seemed enthralled by the current selection of literature, but after that she'd pass customer service and walk into apparel.

Customer Service. The place with the phones.

Elizabeth stiffened, examining the Abyssal again. She'd cracked open a cookbook, eyes obscured by her unkempt hair. If she was slow about it…

As softly as she could manage, she sidestepped, inching towards the edge of the aisle. One step was followed by another. Another.

"Going somewhere?"

Elizabeth jumped, shouting a reflexive "Of course not!"

How? Did she hear her? Elizabeth examined her footwear again: Flats on tile. Compared to the Abyssal's bare feet, they weren't exactly stealthy. The cookbook slapped shut, and the Abyssal looked up at her.

"Well," She stated, walking towards Elizabeth and out of the aisle "Let's see what's over… there…"

That wasn't a good sign. Elizabeth traced the Abyssal's gaze past the Customer Service station (thank goodness), and into the Makeup Section.

…oh.

_Oh, no._

* * *

**Greetings from California! (Okay, not for you FF viewers. that was several months ago. We're catching up, I promise!)**

**Once again, I'm forced to break what I thought was going to be one chapter into two. I want to have _something_ out before I drop off the grid for the latter half of next week, and I feel breaking the Fred Meyers segment into two would make two reasonably-sized chapters.**

**Of note is I'm using my local Fred Myers as a reference for the store's layout, which isn't anything like the next two closest locations so I can guarantee it isn't accurate to the Shelton store. I couldn't find any reference material as to that particular store's layout, and unlike ww2 stuff it's hard to get the motivation to go that in-depth pertaining to research. Hopefully it isn't too confusing.**

**Rejected titles:**

**Grand Theft Abyssal**

**A Carrier's guide to economics**

**Too many ellipses**


	16. Fashion Advice

_Combine the flour, salt, and yeast in a bowl and stir. Add water and any herbs, if used. Remove dough and knead for 5 minutes. Set aside to rise for 4 to 18 hours._

So, this is how humans made their food? Going through these recipe books, it seemed like it took a lot of work, but she guessed with all the required supplies sitting nearby the actual preparation work wouldn't be that bad.

_Click._

The echo of the human's shoes pulled Trinitite from her reading, and The Abyssal dully realized the human's awkward shuffling had stopped for a while.

_Click._

She was moving with purpose, and while she certainly wasn't much of a threat to the Wo-class, the Navy certainly still was.

_Click._

"Going somewhere?"

Judging by desperate "Of course not!" she received, Trinitite guessed that was a yes.

With a sigh, the Abyssal slapped the book shut. She'd gotten distracted. There would be a time where she could eat and read, and this was not it.

The human stiffened when Trinitite's gaze fell on her. Why was she so skittish? The human should know the Abyssal wanted her alive by now. Judging by her position relative to the center of the aisle, it was obvious where she'd been trying to go.

"Well..." Trinitite started, exiting the aisle. The uniformed human had been trying to get away from her, sure, but she'd edged towards a part of the warehouse Trinitite hadn't inspected yet. A strange strategy, as if Trinitite wanted to get away from herself, she'd hide in sections of the building the searcher had already looked through. There must be something very important if the Human was willing to risk getting caught again.

"Let's see what's over… there…"

A woman's face, as large as Trinitite was tall, stared back at her. Her skin seemed unnaturally smooth(for a human, anyways), contrasting sharply with blood-red lips and sharp eyebrows.

Curiosity drove the Abyssal forwards. What kind of supplies would require such a flamboyant display? She approached wordlessly, occasionally checking to ensure the human was following her.

The items, packed in small vials or tiny boxes, filled her view, as custom shelves ensured they were stored as compactly as possible. Each container prominently displayed either a color or another striking image, a competition for attention that the Abyssal almost found overwhelming.

Numbly, she plucked one of the containers off an angled shelf, gravity sliding another into its place like a ready shell. The Abyssal brought the cylindrical container up to her face, turning it until its label was clear. Obviously 'Lipstick' had something to do with your mouth, but wouldn't food be stored back where she'd been? The top of the cylinder came off with a clean pop, revealing a dull red pillar. It didn't _look_ particularly edible, despite its bloody sheen. Besides, who would store food like this?

When a cautious poke left a blood-red dot on her finger, the item's nature was finally revealed.

Trinitite rubbed her fingers together, allowing the non-paint to mix with her skin as she surveyed the display before her. Each column of cylinders on the specialized shelf sported a slightly different shade, and she spotted different colors like of black and even blue. 'Lipstick' was a pretty apt name, it seemed. This was a product that a human would use to change the color of their lips, almost like some kind of ship's… camouflage…

The Abyssal took a step back, taking in the entire aisle. If the purpose of this area was anything like she thought it was, then the task of looking for her mother just got a lot easier. Judging by the look on the human's face, it seemed Trinitite wasn't the only one to get the idea. Human camouflage, indeed.

Trinitite had no idea what 'mascara,' 'foundation,' or 'contour' was, but she made sure her berths had plenty of it. She'd have time to experiment later. Beyond the current section of the store, another part of the warehouse had caught her eye, and that certainly wasn't something she could rush.

"Hey!"

Right. She was forgetting something, wasn't she?

* * *

Now that Elizabeth thought about it, the Abyssal ransacking cosmetics didn't look too different from the various young women she'd seen wandering the section. The way she ogled the display and inspected the products made her seem much younger than she looked, and her eyes were a clear giveaway, but it wouldn't take much for her to pass as any other twenty-something wandering around Northwest Washington.

Isn't _that_ terrifying.

Two beads of light peeked over the Abyssal's toothy collar. In her sleep-addled state Elizabeth didn't realize they were something's eyes until they flickered in a manner she recognized as blinking. Before she had a good chance to process that information, another object obscured them.

_Click._

Did something just… take a picture of her?

The thing on the Abyssal's collar turned, a miniature camera refocusing on the advertisements decorating the shelves.

_Click._

With that, the tiny creature ducked back under the row of teeth, disappearing once again. With her photos taken and a large portion of the store's cosmetics resting somewhere, the Abyssal turned and marched away, dead-set on plundering another part of the Shelton Fred Meyers.

"So," the monster had been quiet while she gathered makeup, but as they left cosmetics she'd started speaking again. Now that she thought about it, abyssal speech Elizabeth heard from the news was always echoey and ethereal, but this one's voice seemed fairly normal. "This is human clothing?"

The abyssal paused next to a clothes rack displaying blouses, grabbing a hanger and holding it in front of her.

"It is." Elizabeth verified, closing the distance between the pair. The blouse was white, too thin to be worn on its own. It was also several sizes too small for the abyssal, and there was no doubt it wouldn't survive her attempts to wear it.

"Why do you keep so much of it?" one of her hands let go of the blouse, and the Abyssal swept it across Apparel. An eighth of the store's floor space was dedicated to the section, and a dividing wall hid the majority of it from view, but even then there must have been hundreds of items visible.

"Because they sell well?" She replied, unsure. The Abyssal seemed to grasp basic economics quickly. Supply and demand should have been obvious to her, right?

"Sell?"

"Plenty of them get traded for money." Elizabeth clarified, resisting the urge to cradle her face in her hands.

"How?" She replied, turning to face the manager. "There can't be _that _many people in this city."

"I don't understand." The store's inventory, even added with that of the nearby Walmart and Goodwill couldn't hope to keep up with Shelton's demand.

"How often do people need clothes?" She asked, pulling the blouse off the hanger and stretching it by either shoulder. Almost immediately, the immense strength of the monster came into play, and with a horrific noise the garment the sundered at one of the shoulders.

The ex-blouse dominated the pair's attention for a good ten seconds.

"You sell clothing so fragile, people have to constantly return for replacements?" The abyssal was the first to recover, seizing another section of the blouse and experimentally tearing another hole. "Wow. Mother always called you humans untrustworthy, but this scheme is more than I could have imagined."

How was she supposed to respond to that? From the immediate deflection of blame, to the insult of her (pretty expensive, nowadays) product, to the casual racism, Elizabeth had plenty to be flabbergasted at. If this was any other customer, she would be. However, this was far better than she expected from an abyssal, so taking it in stride proved easier than she thought. She hadn't killed Elizabeth yet, and the manager had spent over an hour past her regular schedule as a doormat. Perhaps a little pushback was called for.

"It's not a fragile product." The store manager asserted, grabbing a blouse from the rack that actually looked like it could fit The Abyssal. "We can expect the average customer to keep this for six years, maybe more." Removing it from the hanger, Elizabeth grasped each shoulder and gave it a hard tug. As expected, the blouse stretched taut, but the fresh fabric held firm. "Few people can walk on water or bench press a train."

The abyssal shook her head, exasperated. "That's not what I mean." She held up the ruined fabric, shaking it a little as she spoke. "It might last six years if you don't do anything but wear it, but any real work?" She shook her head. "It'll be shreds."

"You don't do hard labor in this!" Elizabeth almost shouted. What, did she think everyone wore the same outfit, all the time?

"Why wear this, then? You're going to have to do some rough work at some point in six years."

Oh god. She did, didn't she? This time, the urge to facepalm was irresistible.

"What?"

The monster's question went ignored as Elizabeth tried to get her thoughts in order.

"Ma'am, have you ever worn anything instead of that" with her free hand, she made a motion covering The Abyssal's body "in your entire life?"

"No?" The Abyssal replied.

"Oh, you poor thing." she intoned, surprisingly unsure if she meant it or not. "What do you do when it needs cleaned?" Elizabeth resisted the urge to poke a clay-brown stain on The Abyssal's front. She'd seen plenty of those when the boys played around in their church clothes.

"My crew are pretty good at…" The Abyssal cut herself short as her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Exactly." Elizabeth continued. "I personally have five blouses like this." She motioned to the clothing in her hand "As well as several dress shirts, dresses, shirts, t-shirts, tank tops, sweaters, and jackets. That's not including leggings or footwear," she motioned to The Abyssal's feet, covered only by The Abysssal's dark tights (or pants?) "which you seem to be lacking."

"That…" She looked back up, taking in the apparel section with what seemed to be renewed appreciation. "...seems excessive."

"Oh, you're worse than Steven." Elizabeth started, rubbing her temples. "Look, do you want to wear the same thing every day?"

"I do?" The Abyssal wavered, dropping the ruined blouse and rubbing a corner of her cape. "This is… part of me."

"Wrong." Elizabeth replied, and the monster actually twitched at her reply. Maybe it was because she was too tired of getting walked over, or maybe she was just too tired in general, but she could only take The Abyssal's reaction as a sign to continue.

"This uniform?" Elizabeth almost poked the Abyssal's collar, but she didn't feel like pushing her luck that far. "It's your job. It's what you wear as an Abyssal… what kind of ship are you?"

"Aircraft Carrier."

"That's what you wear as an Abyssal Aircraft Carrier. Just like this..." She tugged on the collar of her black polo shirt. "...is what I wear as the Manager of a Fred Meyers. When I'm off work, I pick what to wear based on what I expected to do that day and how I'm feeling."

"Must be a lot of feelings." The Abyssal muttered, surveying a multicolored rack of dresses.

"There is." Elizabeth confirmed. "Your clothes are an expression of who you are, so someone can tell a few things about you at a glance."

The Abyssal stared back at Elizabeth, mulling over her speech for several seconds, before her face tightened and she nodded with conviction.

"Okay."

The abused blouse fell to the floor as The Abyssal gripped the two plates of armor at her hips. With a click, they separated slightly, allowing her to slide her leggings, armor and all, down her legs and onto the floor. With a flurry, she whipped the odd clothing behind her, the pants disappearing with everything else she'd stolen that night.

Next came the cape. The Abyssal's hands wrapped around her neck guard, her fingers tracing where it met her suit. The two articles of clothing separated, and immediately the skin tight suit she wore loosened. She was… bigger than Elizabeth had realized, which didn't sit well with her. Why did creatures that emulated war machines and seemed to feed off hate get supermodel bodies?

Even with the items in question missing, Elizabeth could clearly see where her hip and collar armor had met her body. Stripes of black material interrupted her pale skin, the odd pattern that only extended where The Abyssal's armor was supposed to be. She initially thought the strips were some kind of intricate tattoo, but their texture shared far much more with the armor she was removing than the skin it had replaced. It would be somewhat natural another creature, but the fact it was on a humanoid made it anything but. At least there was something she couldn't paint over with makeup.

While her gaze lingered on The Abyssal's odd marking, her gloves were removed, disappearing as she stowed them with the rest of her clothes. Now that all she had left was her final layer, which Elizabeth would describe as some kind of long-sleeved leotard. With a start, the sleep-deprived Elizabeth finally realized what the Abyssal was doing.

"Woah, wait!"

The Abyssal halted as Elizabeth jumped, a moment away from sliding an arm out and exposing herself to both Elizabeth and the Security cameras.

"We have changing rooms over there." Elizabeth stated, pointing to another section of Apparel. The Abyssal turned, casting only a brief glance at behind her.

"'Changing', as in there are separate rooms for changing clothes?"

"Yeah" Elizabeth replied, fearing she already knew the answer.

"Good try." The Abyssal dismissed, pulling her arm free. "You've already tried to get help twice. I'm not letting you leave my sight."

Elizabeth sighed, averting her gaze and taking a nearby seat.

Whatever. Eat your heart out, CCTV.

* * *

**Well, It's still Monday somewhere in the world, right? You'll notice this isn't the 4.6K chapter I was talking about, but in order to be timely and more consistent with previous updates I'm splitting it into two.**


	17. Suit Up!

So what if the human saw her naked? The Crossroads Fleet subs hadn't had a problem being seen, and Trinitite had seen practically everyone in the drydocks at one point or another. Obviously clothes had utility, but stripping to change wasn't a big deal, right?

She wasn't nude _now_, though. The white 'tank top' (part of Trinitite wondered what the garment had to do with liquid storage or armored vehicles) fit snugly on her torso, a pile of similar clothes scattered on the floor around her.

Not for a lack of trying. It turned out Trinitite didn't have an eye for size, and the tops around her had all either been too loose or burst as she'd tried to don them. She'd quickly discovered the size information printed on each tank top, but not before several had already been lost. This one almost seemed okay, but…

The carrier frowned, experimentally bouncing on a foot. Hmm. Arms raised above her shoulders, she twisted rapidly to one side, before suddenly stopping and twisting the other way. Huh.

She couldn't fight like this. Trinitite knew several abyssals did just fine without anything keeping their breasts steady, but without her suit keeping them in place the odd momentum was throwing her off. The top didn't help nearly enough, and the tighter ones she _could_ fit into were just cut too low to help.

The flaw in the tank top's design seemed glaringly obvious, but people apparently traded for them in droves. Trinitite had to be missing something.

"Done destroying my clothes?" The manager asked. She still refused to look at the abyssal, despite the fact Trinitite _was_ wearing something.

"Maybe?" The Wo wavered, pulling softly on the top. "Most of it fits, but…" She trailed off, staring downwards.

The human finally turned to look at Trinitite.

"Not enough support?"

"Yeah." Trinitite nodded, cupping her fuel bunkers. "That's a good word for it."

"Alright." With a sigh, the human stood, making her way deeper into the clothing section and motioning for her to follow. "We're getting you underwear."

* * *

Trinitite stared back into the mirror, her engineers desperately working to relieve the pressure in her active boiler while a blush stained her cheeks steel-grey. When the human had asked for The Abyssal's measurements, she hadn't been impressed by her answer. How was she supposed to know the manager couldn't use length, beam, and draft information?

Then she produced _that tape measure_. It wasn't true by a long shot, but Trinitite felt like every inch of the carrier had experienced the uncomfortable feeling of the human's stupid-warm hands or the cursed tool digging into her flesh. The human's attitude on nakedness made a little more sense, now. The bra and panties she'd been given certainly didn't feel like enough coverage around the woman.

She'd never been handled like that before. She was no stranger to contact, from the soft affection of her mother and sisters, and the congratulatory slaps and pats of her late comrades, to obviously the attacks of enemies, but none of it had been so… _comprehensive_. What if she'd been less impersonal? What if she'd touched even more? At what point would Trinitite have stopped her?

"Does it fit well?"

"_Eep!_"

Trinitite jumped, almost summoning her rigging as she turned. The human wasn't visible, leaning against a wall just outside the changing 'room'. She'd left the door open, to prevent the human from making a run for it, but now realized the manager easily could have slipped away while The Wo was feeling compromised. Just what in the deep had gotten to her?

"I… think it does?" Trinitite replied, realizing she hadn't answered yet.

The human came around the corner, placing her hands on her hips as she appraised the abyssal's undergarments.

"It does." The human nodded, her eyes tracing Trinitite like a hostile submarine's periscope. "We don't size people much. Good to know I got your measurements right the first time."

Trinitite twinged. The first time?

"You won't have to do it again?"

"No." She sighed, leaning back against the door. "You can go on with your pillaging."

* * *

When it came to underwear, there was plenty of variety. Different colors, different cuts, and different intended purposes, but Trinitite had absolutely no interest in experimenting. Not with the human right behind her. Still, she would want to determine optimal undergarments later, so she stowed everything in the underwear section that matched the sizes the manager had given her. _Everything_, including several socks and tights she was fairly sure wouldn't fit anyways.

Sure, the human had technically done Trinitite a service, but she wasn't going to consider that incident a good deed any time soon. Cleaning the warehouse's inventory seemed a suitably petty revenge. The manager's suppressed protests weren't as satisfying as she'd thought they'd be, but it was something.

It was back to tops, then. Specifically, T-shirts. Like the food items, the human camouflage, and some of the pants she'd seen, they were folded up on shelves, a colorful and tidy display. Unfortunately, that meant The Wo had to unfold each one in a stack until she found one with her size information. She'd tried refolding a few of the shirts, but after several sloppy or destructive attempts The abyssal resorted to wadding unusable shirts up and tossing them aside.

Many proudly displayed words and symbols, but since she'd understood almost none of them she discarded them. Better not wear something that would inadvertently draw attention.

That left the simple colored shirts, which were causing more trouble than Trinitite expected. The manager's words on clothes echoed in her head as the Carrier studied her options.

_Your clothes are an expression of who you are._

Well, they wouldn't be. Trinitite was looking to 'express' a perfectly unremarkable, average human. Obviously, white and black were out. Nobody needed to see her sporting abyssal colors. She liked blue, however, whether it be dark sea-blue or the cool blue of her eye. Her orange eye was a bigger point of pride, though. Few abyssals survived long enough to mature like that, so an orange shirt would work.

But what if the military didn't fall for her disguise? Perhaps green or brown would be a better idea. There was a patterned shirt with both those colors, right?

Arriving at a decision, Trinitite scooped a green-and-brown striped shirt from its stack and started checking for sizes. It was perfect. The colors would make it harder for her to be spotted from the air, while the dazzling stripes would confuse surface combatant's ranging efforts.

She'd make sure to bring all the other options with her, though. Just in case.

* * *

Trinitite couldn't be certain about anything, but she felt pretty confident about the outfit she'd found. Brown-and-Green shirt, simultaneously practical and stylish. Slim blue jeans, because there were so many _everyone_ must wear them. A pair of "hiking boots", one of the few surviving items in the decimated the shoe section. The largest and heaviest hat she could find, a khaki item with a wide brim and thick material.

It didn't come close with her rigging's headgear, but the familiar feeling of something protecting her scalp was close enough.

The entire ensemble, plus whatever she could get to work with the human camouflage she'd picked up, should let her pass as human. If it wasn't enough her hold was stuffed with plenty of alternatives. Who knows, if she could lose the military entirely she might be able to switch back into a good pair of heels.

Now to find a mirror, ensure she looked inconspicuous enough, and… and...

That was a lot of dresses. Trinitite would like to say she wasn't interested, and she'd managed to ignore them for the majority of the night, but seeing them brought back so many memories.

Abyssal Princesses loved their dresses. The Battleship Princess, the Midway Princess, and her own came to mind, but they certainly weren't unique in their wardrobe choice. In a way, it was a status symbol, since as far as she knew, no standard abyssal ever wore one.

Grabbing one off the rack and holding it in front of her, Trinitite found herself biting her lip. There wasn't any reason _not_ to carry one around, was there? Plus, if so many powerful ships and installations loved them there must have been some advantage. The image of her in similar dress entered her mind, perhaps surrounded by a mist similar to her princess, but she dismissed it.

The dress returned to the hanger rack. She wouldn't betray her mother like that.

Returning to the changing room, the abyssal turned to assess her double in the mirror. Thick shoes, rough pants, and a subtle shirt. So far, so human.

Her white hands might be a problem, though. She'd found plenty of gloves, but all had seemed a bit too bulky for her tastes. She'd have to either bite the bullet and wear something cumbersome, or see if she could get away with her original gloves. Maybe she'd grabbed something to make them look more human back with the lipstick, but she couldn't be sure.

Seeing her neck bare seemed… wrong. Like she was sailing into combat with some of her bulkheads jammed open or armor stripped away. Scratching her throat with one hand, she checked her hold for anything that could help with that. Her crew were starting to sort her bounty from where she'd tossed it, meaning everything had moved from where she'd left it. Lets see, if she knew her Quartermaster they'd be next to either the hats or coats, right?

Right. With a flurry, Trinitite whipped a long strip of fabric from her hold and held it in front of her. There'd been images of humans wearing this 'scarf' around their neck, and while she'd grabbed a few she'd initially thought they'd be useless. It would be gone if she tried to shoulder through another bush, but for peace of mind…

The scarf was the first she could get her hands on, the thin material decorated with an orange and grey geometric pattern. She brought the garment in front of her, the smooth cloth sliding through her fingers.

How did they do this? Trinitite cautiously looped the dual-colored scarf around her neck, keeping it loose enough that it draped around her shoulders and settled on her chest. Having completed a rough approximation of her regular collar, she tied the scarf off.

Perhaps a little too similar to her regular outfit, and it didn't look quite as nice as the images the store displayed, but as Trinitite turned in the mirror those issues didn't seem like much of a problem.

Her eyes, however…

The abyssal bit her lip, leaning into her own reflection. There wasn't any good way to hide that, was there? She could try some of the sunglasses that were on display, but they'd only dull it, reflecting a portion back into her face and blinding her.

_Thunk._

The Carrier jumped as she felt a part of her suddenly go dark. Did she blow a fuze? With all the damage she'd taken in the past month it wouldn't be surprising if her electrics were starting to fail, but that didn't mean she had a good plan to deal with it. Without good air conditioning-

_AC's fine. We just shut the lights off in the island. Air control is going to be difficult, and expect a bunch more minor injuries, but that might solve your glowing problem._

Trinitite blinked, staring back at her mirror. Sure enough, where there had once been a brilliant blue-orange glow, her eyes had dimmed to a dull grey.

"Huh." She mumbled. Humans had grey eyes, right? "Thanks." As long as it wasn't obvious anymore Trinitite doubted it would be a big deal. She'd been dealing with the manager for hours now, and she couldn't recall her eye color at all.

"Hey." One of her fairies audibly replied.

Nodding to her reflection, Trinitite turned and left. By this time, the military had been given several hours to catch up with her. The raid had yielded much more than she expected, even though Trinitite hadn't had enough time to check the entire warehouse. She'd also developed a proper plan, now: fade into the human populous, getting money and discreetly obtaining any more supplies she needed while searching for Her Princess. Speaking of which, her disguise certainly would make spying on Human installations easier. For the first time in weeks, things were looking up for the lone Wo.

Before she left though, she had one more thing to take care of.

The human had fallen asleep an hour ago, while Trinitite was trying the collection of jackets. Leaning against a nearby pillar didn't look comfortable to her, but Trinitite wasn't an expert on humans so for all she knew they did it regularly. Anyways, a sleeping human wasn't a plotting human, so she'd left the manager there.

A poke wasn't enough to rouse the human from her slumber. Trinitite briefly considered pushing harder to wake her, before recalling the many destroyed items scattering the warehouse. Humans might be more fragile than the Wo realized.

Instead, Trinitite hooked her hands under the woman's arms, hauling her to to her feet. Judging by how the human's eyes jerked open, it worked pretty well.

"Wha?" The human jerked in Trinitite's hands, but seemed stable enough when the carrier put her back on her feet. "Who?"

"Human." Before waking her, Trinitite had prepared a quick statement. "I'm going to leave now, but I need something, first."

She nodded, blinking wearly.

"What is your name?" She hoped the human had a name. Not every princess cared about their fleet enough to grant them one.

"Uh…" The woman stared at her for a few seconds, before finally speaking. "Elizabeth."

Right. Like it said on the tag she had. The Wo nodded to herself, before continuing her spiel.

"Well, you may not have my trust, but you have my gratitude. You've helped me a lot today, so I think I owe you a favor. Unlike humans, we Abyssals despise a debt, so remember this:" Trinitite took a step away from the human, making room for the Wo to point at Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth of the Fred Meyers Fleet. Some day, somehow, I shall return to repay the favor I owe you. We'll meet again."

With that, Trinitite turned and left the confused human. Hopefully, she'd find a way to do so. The amount of inventory she'd taken didn't entirely fill her hold and meat locker, but it was substantial. She didn't think the military had been alerted, but now that her business was concluded she'd have to move on. Besides, her priorities were shifting from 'survival' to 'reconnaissance.' The creeping realization that she'd taken the initiative from the humans was exhilarating, and she was getting impatient to do so.

Trinitite would be leaving from the same exit she'd taken, but her route took her through another section of the warehouse. She couldn't stop to examine anything in depth, but grabbing one of the 'walking sticks' she'd sighted wouldn't take too much time, would it?

* * *

**And here's the second half! I should reply to everyone before posting another chapter, but after spending so long breaking my hands typing this on a tiny mobile keyboard I'm just exited to get it out.**

**Yes, Trinitite is wearing a Cowboy Hat. She isn't a fashion disaster, but there's... room for improvement.**

**If I had to say something nice about the character of the majority of Abyssal interpretations, it's that they have a strong sense of justice. Obviously it's horribly misguided and they aren't particularly discriminate about it, but I imagine the knowledge they owe someone something would sit really poorly with them.**


	18. Interlude: Emergency

When Katrina Patrick joined the Air Force, she hadn't expected to stay long. She'd do a tour or two, see some interesting parts of the world, and get out in a few years with college tuition paid and some stories to tell. Even after training and assignment, it seemed like a perfect plan. Sure, Anderson would be in the crosshairs if the ball dropped with North Korea or China, but if that happened Katrina wouldn't be safe in the States, either. Besides, nuclear deterrents and the silent pull of trade were stronger than any war hawk, right?

She'd never know. Guam was hit, not by a swarm of ballistic missiles, but by a horde of supernatural monsters with naval artillery.

Katrina's war had ended in less than a week. An Abyssal shell had removed her leg, earning her a ticket on one of the last C-17's out of Guam. Now, she was sitting in the states with a free ticket to any college she wanted, an amazing health plan, and a shiny new prosthetic leg.

All nice, and people told her it was well earned, but Katrina had found it difficult to agree. Her friends had died to get her out of there, just like she'd fought to keep the Abyssals off of the last convoy out. Now, others were doing the same, putting their lives on the line so she could worry about small stuff like grades and rent.

Making a better life for herself was important, sure, but with a war bathing the world's oceans in fire and blood her own life seemed so small.

Her job as a 911 dispatcher helped with that. It was horrifying, it was stressful, and it was punishing, but she was _helping_. That knowledge helped her work through the rough calls, get to every class she was in, and stay awake these long nights in the call center.

Even at this hour, MAECOM was fully staffed. The sound of quiet conversation and telephones ringing filled the office, as the various dispatchers handled this or that crisis which was unfolding in Mason County. Another dispatcher told her the call center used to be a lot more spacious, but with refugees flooding in they'd had to add several more work stations.

Now, Katrina was nursing a cup of coffee, her array of monitors sandwiched between a wall and a photocopier. They seemed to be overstaffed tonight, which was fortunate, but a thirty-minute lull in calls brought its own problems.

After finishing a call, one of her coworkers left the room for a cup of coffee. The man at the station next to her was trying to calm someone down, and his repeated questions were only setting Katrina further on edge. It was just hot enough to make Katrina uncomfortable.

When her phone finally sounded its monotone tattoo, she couldn't help but relax a little.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"_Uh… Hello._" A woman replied, her voice slow and wavering. "_I'd like to report a robbery._"

"Are you in danger?" Katrina queried, glancing at the caller ID. Hadn't Fred Meyers been closed for several hours now?

"_No. Not anymore._" Good news there.

"Alright, you're at the Fred Meyers on Wallace Kneeland, correct?"

At the caller's response in the affirmative, Katrina turned her attention to the computer. There seemed to be an idle car nearby, meaning the caller wouldn't be alone for long.

"Alright, an officer is on its way." The dispatcher assured. "Could you describe the suspect?"

"_Uhh…_" The woman started, pausing for a moment. Judging by the slurred way she spoke, Katrina judged she was dealing with someone who was only awake because of adrenaline. "_A woman, with white skin, white hair, and glowing eyes. I think-_" The woman stopped for a moment, warring with fatigue or sudden doubts. "_I think I've been robbed by an Abyssal._"

Katrina froze, her blood going cold. An Abyssal? In Shelton? Forget the police, she had to contact the military, and even then the closest base was miles away. Memories from Guam flooded back to her. A burning city, refugees dying in the hundreds as enemy aircraft strafed the fleeing column. An explosion catching a taxing fighter, the aircraft she'd worked hard to arm disappearing in a fireball. The numb feeling of detachment as meds prevented her from properly saying goodbye to her friends.

Except that wasn't happening here, was it? If there had truly been an abyssal at the local Fred Meyers, she'd be dead already. Not waiting for a phone to ring.

_Not funny, asshole._

"Ma'am." She started, fighting to keep her voice even. "Abyssals don't rob people. They kill them." The anger started to subside as her discipline and professionalism fought to keep it under control. The caller was tired, so mistakes were bound to happen, especially in observation. Malice versus incompetence, as Haddock's Razor states. Or was it Hammond's Razor?

"_I know it sounds crazy,_" The caller replied. "_But I don't think she could be anything else. Her eyes were glowing, and she was very strong._"

That was a very easy statement to _say_, so although skepticism wasn't in her job description Katrina found it very hard to believe her caller.

"Are you certain?" She asked, rubbing her brow. It was probably some teenager leveraging her costume for free stuff. Worst case, they'd contact the Navy and some mischievous shipgirl would get disciplined.

"_Yes._"

"Are you hurt?" Katrina repeated, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"_I- I don't think so._"

"Good." She replied. An ambulance was also on its way. If the caller thought she saw abyssals there might be a chance something was wrong with her. "Could you tell me what happened?"

"_Right. She snuck up on me after I locked the building up and grabbed the door of my car. I tried to close it on her, but…_"

As the hysterical woman relayed her story, Katrina found it increasingly difficult to follow. It was her duty to believe the caller- it would be up to actual investigators to determine the veracity of the claims, but as it got more and more fantastic Katrina's incredulity grew.

She could justify an Abyssal stealing food and _maybe_ books, but _clothes_? The abyssals had burned down hundreds of clothing stores by now, and hadn't shown interest in one. When the woman said the Abyssal thanked her before fleeing, Katrina managed to pass the supposed information on without really registering it.

"Ma'am, when the uh…" She checked her dispatch log "..._Carrier_ fled the premises, what was she wearing?"

"_She had a… green shirt?_" The voice replied. "_Jeans, as well. She also had this cowboy hat she wore. It's tan, almost white. Should be really easy to spot, but I don't think anyone should approach her._"

"Because she's an abyssal." Katrina finished the caller's thought, failing to mask her disbelief.

"_Yeah._"

"Alright," Katrina started. It wouldn't be long before the officers arrived, and while she was tempted to keep the woman on the line until they did, if she was faking it she wouldn't have time to get away from the police anyways. "Please stay where you are until officers arrive on the scene."

"_I need to get my phone, first._" The woman added. "_Let my husband know I'm okay._"

"As long as the officers can find you." Katrina reassured. She normally didn't follow up on cases she'd been involved in, but she made a mental note to do so. "Is there anything else?"

"_Not that I can think of, no._"

"Alright." Katrina added, checking the dispatch info she'd sent. "Stay safe, ma'am."

"_I'll try. Goodbye._"

"Goodbye." Katrina replied, terminating the call perhaps a little too soon. The dispatcher fell back in her chair, groaning. She'd never felt less sympathy for a caller before. Sure, if an actual perpetrator had called her things would be different, but claiming there was an abyssal in the town? Relating it to calling 'fire' in a theater wouldn't do it justice, especially if the rumors about abyssals being attracted to negative emotions were true.

On the slim chance it was true, however, the SPD would be terribly outmatched. Abyssals were the military's job. Perhaps passing a warning to them would be prudent?

She groaned, removing her headset and standing. Katrina wouldn't claim to be an expert in abyssals (she doubted such a thing existed), but she knew enough to know that whatever the caller had spotted wasn't one. If the military got reports from everyone who thought they spotted an abyssal, especially in towns this far behind human lines, they'd have to hire half the country to go through them all. Better not waste their time unless the officers on scene found good evidence.

Besides, after a call like that?

She needed a cup of coffee.

* * *

**It's Hanlon's razor, in case you want to google.**

**This chapter was difficult, partially because there's no Wo shenanigans to mess around with, and partially because researching 911 dispatching is really draining. Google does not give you gentle 911 calls to listen to.**

**As such, this is probably one of the least authentic chapters yet. I had to relate to a slow and steady approach to getting words out, and that's not conductive to good research. Hopefully I got it good enough it isn't distracting.**


	19. Naivety

Human vehicles were nothing new to Trinitite. During her life in the Crossroads Fleet, she often saw one or two to an island, although climate and conflict had left none of them in working condition. Even from shore, destroyed cities she'd seen were littered with them, in states that ranged from seemingly untouched to crushed, burned-out hulks.

Witnessing them in motion now was one of the few rewarding parts of her experience. Not as impressive as aircraft, but interesting nonetheless. Now that she was seated inside one, Trinitite couldn't help but investigate.

The vehicle's cockpit was filled with the low buzz of a radio, loud enough Trinitite could make out the words, but said in a coded manner that she couldn't decipher. If the physical interior wasn't so interesting, it probably would have bothered her. A dark material The Abyssal didn't recognize covered the majority of the vehicle's surfaces, dull and rigid. She had to resist tapping it and drawing attention to herself.

"You know," The driver started, redirecting Trinitite's attention away from the vehicle. "It's pretty dangerous to walk alone at this time of night."

His uniform sported a bright yellow patch, a man's face, white as her own skin, surrounded by the words 'WASHINGTON STATE PATROL.' Several tools were attached to his belt, while a fabric strap secured him into his seat. The Abyssal searched for her own as she mulled over the Driver's statement.

"The woods?" She asked, remembering the screaming monster that had attacked her earlier.

"Yes, it can be dangerous out there." The man replied, confirming Trinitite's suspicions. "But around here it's not just wild animals you have to worry about."

With a click, Trinitite secured herself in the vehicle's cockpit. Like he'd been waiting for her to do so, the vehicle started moving almost immediately afterwards.

"What else is there?"

The Driver was silent for a moment, allowing the disguised Wo to focus on the road around her. The vehicle spun back to its southbound route, pushing Trinitite into her chair as it accelerated. By the time the vehicle had reached a constant speed, it was traveling at a pace that put her previous progress to shame. They must be making a solid thirty knots! Not quite as fast as she could make on the water, but unlike then, she was completely invisible to enemy aircraft! She sat, watching the trees zoom by while the driver put his thoughts together.

"Say, kid…" The Driver's voice interrupted Trinitite's strategizing. "What's your name?"

"Huh?" Trinitite jerked, yanking her eyes from the passing scenery. "Uhh…"

What should her name be? She couldn't just use Trinitite, as using a ship's name on a human might raise suspicion. What was a human name?

"Elizabeth!" She blurted out, saying it a little faster than she meant to.

"Well, Elizabeth, you ever been to a big city?"

Trinitite shook her head. That was technically a lie as well, but she doubted he'd consider the war-torn ruins of Manilla and Singapore 'cities'.

"Well, I don't know where you're from, but when you get enough people together, some of them are bound to be bad apples."

What did _that _mean? Trinitite stayed quiet, pretending to understand the term. Her driver must not have bought it, however, as he clarified.

"Look, with so many people you're going to see a lot of… differences in opinion." The man stated, flicking a lever before wheeling the car starboard. "Some folks, for example, think it would be okay to take advantage of an isolated women at four o-clock in the morning."

"Take advantage of?" Trinitite couldn't stop herself. _That _certainly sounded ominous.

"Yes." He replied, bringing the vehicle to a stop in front of some multicolored lights. "At this time of day, there's less people to see and call folks like me to help, so this is the best time for muggers, rapists, and murderers to do their deed and get away with it."

Trinitite shivered. She knew what the last term was, at least. Her thoughts drifted back to when she was changing clothes, both in the woods and the warehouse. The real Elizabeth's hands as she measured and cataloged every inch of Trinitite's body. The exposure she felt, beyond even practical concerns. Maybe she didn't really want to know what '_take advantage of_' meant.

Her thoughts didn't stop there, though. Some humans just ambush random people in the street and kill them? Why? How did that get them money? It wasn't a job like fisherman or manager, was it? No, else members of this 'highway patrol' fleet wouldn't be paid to stop them. Like among the Abyssal fleets, murderer was just a term for someone, not one of these 'jobs' she'd heard about. Now that she had spent some time around humans, the opinions of other Princesses and their fleets didn't seem too accurate, but she wasn't surprised to learn that they were correct about _some _humans.

It wasn't a practical concern for her, though. She, as an aircraft carrier, outclassed any human in a fight, whether it came to strength, durability, or firepower, and every human she'd encountered so far knew it. Unless the Abyssal let a human strap explosives to her hull, or unless they had a way to deliver The Fire by hand, there wasn't anything one could actually do to harm her.

But The Driver didn't know she was an abyssal, and neither would an attacker. While a human would-be murderer wouldn't last long against Trinitite in a fight, if she was discovered this deep in human territory she'd be just as outmatched. She hadn't thought of herself as vulnerable, especially with uncomfortable ground under her feat instead of a long, painful drop back into the Abyss. However, by walking in darkness, alone, along a road where she didn't look like she was hiding anything, she'd drawn attention to herself by appearing to be just that. Making herself an obvious target was about as far from being inconspicuous as possible.

"Oh…" She replied weekly, followed by a more certain "Thank you."

"Just doing my job." He recited, and Trinitite had to suppress a giggle. If this 'Highway Patrol' actually knew what she was, they certainly wouldn't be giving her a ride. She hadn't even applied the human camouflage yet!

The car started moving again, turning to a ramp leading onto the larger road. Acceleration returned, shoving Trinitite further into her chair as they matched the speed of other cars on the road. The vehicle reached thirty knots. Fourty. _Fifty knots_, and the other vehicles were _still _passing them. _What was this speed?_

"Elizabeth?"

Of course, if one of her aircraft was moving this slow, it would fall out of the sky. She knew how fast a vehicle could move, but despite that it was her in the cockpit, this time. It was… kind of exciting. The noise of the tires on the asphalt was ever present, rising and falling as nearby vehicles came and went. The ground was a blur, passing by too quickly for Trinitite to determine its texture.

"Ma'am?"

"Huh?" Had the Driver been trying to talk to her? Trinitite's attention flipped back to the man, trying to ignore the speed they were hurling themselves at.

"It's not often I see someone who hasn't ridden on a highway before." He stated, sparing some attention from the road to cast Trinitite a questioning glance "If you don't mind me asking, Where are you from?"

Where are you from?

_Where are you from?_

What was she supposed to say to that? She knew that, thanks to The Fire, humans couldn't live at Bikini for more than a few months, so she couldn't just tell a half-truth and move on. However, making something up on the spot would be too obvious!

"The… Marshals?"

"Ah." Did he buy it? It was… technically true. "Forgive me for saying this, but you don't look like much of an Islander."

She didn't? What did an islander actually look like? She hadn't really seen any humans personally, before the whole battle at Bikini. Still, the Driver needed some kind of answer, so Trinitite found herself taking a risk.

"My mom's from The East Coast."

Humans had Mothers, right?

"Ah, makes sense." Apparently so, as the Driver continued. "There's a lot of people like that over there." His face went blank, and he shook his head. "Or, there was."

"Yeah." Trinitite replied flatly. Unless one of the other Princesses in the Marshalls were hiding some humans (and considering how willingly they betrayed her Mother, that felt unlikely), they were either Abyssal held or completely abandoned.

"I won't pry into how you got out when the shooting started," The Driver finally stated, interrupting a silence that had settled between the two. "But it must have been hard, especially with that skin of yours."

Trinitite seized up, her crew scrambling for their battle stations. Had the lighting had failed to conceal her skin? Was she exposed?

No. If he'd actually recognized her as an abyssal, he wouldn't have invited her aboard. Abyssal-like skin must not have been unheard of among regular humans, then. Thank the deep her crew hadn't reactivated the lights in her island in their brief panic.

"It was, but-" Trinitite stumbled, not entirely sure how to continue. "But I'm still here, right? As long as I'm alive, I can make things better." Surprisingly, saying that came… easier than Trinitite had thought.

"That's a good sentiment, but not always accurate." The driver replied, shaking his head without looking away from the road. "You can't do everything alone. When you get to Seattle, I'd suggest getting in contact with one of the refugee programs there. With the refugee crisis how it is, you might have to wait a while before anyone can help you, but any library in Seattle's got a program or two to help people find a job. The fact you took my offer makes me think you already know this, but there's no shame in accepting help here and there."

Find a job? Why would she need help doing that? The way Elizabeth described it made it seem fairly straight forward. She'd consider it further once she'd gotten a better idea of the scale of her search for her Princess, but she doubted admitting herself into any system the navy could track was a good idea. The driver's advice left another question she couldn't ignore, though.

"The Libraries? Aren't they just for books?" Between the technical manuals she'd summoned with and her loot from the warehouse, Her own library was overfilled. Trinitite wasn't sure she'd find time to read them all.

He actually laughed at that. "I don't know how to explain it." He stated, pulling the vehicle onto a pathway that lead off the road. "Just give one a look, and I think you'll understand."

She wasn't sure what to say about that. A non-committal "Hmm" seemed safe enough.

As the vehicle drove into another human town Trinitite supposed was Olympia, the Abyssal spared a glance outside. Even at this time of day, the town was highlighted by frequent lights, a far call from the dark ruins the Abyssal would occasionally spot when cruising through islands. It did pose a problem, though. The Driver had been fooled by her disguise, but although this town seemed as empty as Shelton the bright lights were going to make her unusual skin stand out more than normal. The sooner she could get that fixed, the better, but doing so in one of these 'motels' could be an issue.

"And… there's one." The driver stated, and this time Trinititie wasn't surprised. "I think this one has 24-hour check in, as well."

"Oh." She replied, feigning interest in the building before them. "It seems nice."

"Motels rarely are, but any port in a storm, right?" He stated, bringing the vehicle to a halt between several other vehicles. "Get some sleep. You've still got a lot of walking ahead of you."

"A lot less, now." Trinitite added, nodding as she undid her harness. "Again, thank you."

At his nod, The Abyssal took her leave of the vehicle, a gentle push sending the door slamming back shut. She could feel the man's eyes boring into the back of her island as she made her way to the entrance, the lights illuminated her skin perhaps too well, and she wasn't sure exactly where she was on a chart anymore, but that ride had certainly solved more problems than it had created.

"Good morning!"

Trinitite nodded to the woman that greeted her when she entered the building, but didn't actually respond. She'd be leaving once the Highway Patrol vehicle did, anyways.

"We have two rooms open… but… hello?"

Trinitite turned back to the woman, nodding to the receptionist and looking back at the parked vehicles in front of the building. It already seemed like the driver was withdrawing, leaving her alone in the motel.

"Uhh… ma'am?"

"Sorry." Trinitite said, not quite looking at the worker. "I don't have any money."

Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door to the motel again and retreated. No point in dealing with people at the moment. Now, she needed to get somewhere she could change again…

Her paint-and-chip detail needed to make up for exacerbating The Tobasco Incident. They couldn't fail at applying the human camouflage as much as they did with cleaning her clothes, right?

Well, they could, but Trinitite had brought plenty. Now, there seemed to be a fairly large grove of trees just across the road. Was it thick enough to hide in? Once again, the Abyssal walked into the night, heeding the Driver's advice by staying away from the roads, this time. Once day came, she'd finish her camouflage, figure out where in Olympia the Highway Patrol had dropped her, and make the rest of the journey to Seattle. She just had to wait.

As the Abyssal sat, city lights filtering through the trees around her, she found her eyelids starting to fall. Physically, she wasn't exhausted, but as she sat, purposefully ignoring the dangers and worries that surrounded her, she found the idea of sleep irresistible. The carrier _deserved _a little nap, right? She'd made it this far.

* * *

**Trinitite never checked prices of motels in Olympia, Washington, but I did.**

**Man, motels are _expensive_.**

**Anyways, have a chapter! In some ways I had to make things shorter than I wanted (there were less radio shenanigans than I wanted, but I didn't know how to fit them in), but overall I think I have a good length. I'm no longer trying to push the story forwards, though, as by this point I can get to "Wo looking for a job" naturally, and her journey there should provide plenty of opportunities for the shenanigans I set out to write in this story.**

**You know, now that I think of it, I can probably point to all the CVB-44 style SIs that have been popping up on SB as one of my big inspirations for this story. Instead of a human/shipgirl trying to survive in abyssal-infested wilderness, its an abyssal trying to survive in human-infested territory. Anyways, I shouldn't ramble too much (it would be terrible if a chapter got delayed by an author's note), so I hoped you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Next chapter's gonna be another interlude, the nature of which should be fairly easy to guess.**


	20. Interlude: Interview

Operation Absolute Railway was cursed.

Every time they'd thought they were about to catch the "Fugitive Princess," as the rank-and-file was starting to call her, she'd suddenly change her tactics, forcing General Hudson to twist his plan this way and that. If this happened in an exercise, such twists and turns were expected, but every extra person he had to bring in, every new asset he acquired, meant their cover-up got shakier and shakier. It was like they always had just _under _enough resources to actually catch the bitch.

The first sign things were going wrong is when the Rangers followed the Carrier's trail south to the Queets River. A carcass wasn't particularly alarming, although the small hope the Abyssal would starve in the woods was eliminated. What the Rangers found noteworthy, however, were other tracks they'd spotted nearby: Human boots, and there was more than one. There was no guarantee they'd put the dots together, but it did not bode well for keeping things secret.

Beyond that, following the Abyssal through Olympic National park had been fairly straightforward. Only one with an Abyssal's superhuman abilities could leave a trail as obvious as the abyssal did. She tended to walk _through _underbrush rather than around it, and more than one tree hadn't survived her passing. By estimating her speed from the tracks The Abyssal left behind, Colonel Walton guessed they'd catch up with the monster long before she ran into any small towns.

Then, the Abyssal left the Olympic Mountains and started to run. In the rough mountains, a skilled soldier with good boots could outpace the superhuman but clumsy Abyssal (or Nashville herself, she was sure), but on flat, even ground? The 2nd Ranger Battalion found itself choking on the Wo-class's waterlogged dust. The fact the woods were a little too thick for proper four-wheelers didn't help any.

Still, the General was an adaptable man. Additional aircraft and drones were introduced into the operation, in the hope that a faster monster would be easier to separate from the general wildlife of washington, but sadly there was no luck there. A handful of prototype exoskeletons were acquired, allowing the Rangers to match the Monster's brisk pace. If Nashville had an ounce of tracking skill, she certainly would have been deployed immediately.

It didn't matter, though, because the Carrier's trail veered east and ended at a road leading into the small town of Shelton, Washington.

What now?

Asking the Rangers to follow the Abyssal into the town wasn't… ideal. Issues with tracking someone over asphalt aside, searching a town with Rangers jeopardized the objective of secrecy somewhat. Second, trying to avoid the notice of the regular civilian population _along with_ their quarry meant the traditional methods of tracking someone were no longer viable.

Still, there weren't many better options, so elements of the 2nd Ranger Battalion changed into civilian clothes and entered Shelton. An airstrike was no longer a good option, but aircraft were kept on station. The narrowed search area should help, at least. Since a softening strike was out of the question, Nashville had to admit she couldn't take the capital ship in a one-on-one fight. Thus, General Hudson gave the Navy another call. Another ship was on its way, probably fresh from the convoy that had recently returned from Japan.

What was the Abyssal doing in there, anyways? Just hiding? She might have realized the noose was closing in, jumping to the nearby town as a shield. Except when she'd used the fishermen as hostages, she'd been very open about it. So far, it seemed she was keeping her head down. The town wasn't showing any signs of abyssal occupation, that was for sure.

Except it had, and the good folks in the Shelton Police Department had known about it for Hours.

So, here she was, riding along with Lieutenant Murray in a government SUV. The pair drove in silence, road noise rising and falling as the ONI officer passed vehicles.

At least they weren't flying.

"So, let me get this straight." Nashville started, interrupting the dead silence between the two. The pair hadn't slept while the 2nd Rangers quietly searched the town, and the long night hadn't left either in the mood for small talk. "The Shelton Police department gets a call. Woman warns them about an abyssal knocking over her store. These hicks get their hands on security footage, review the obvious video of an Abyssal ransacking their retail store, and decide _we don't need to know about it until working hours_?"

"They thought the Alpha-Sierra was one of ours." He replied, the Lieutenant's eyes focused on the highway. "They were waiting for our NCIS office to open."

"That thing's a shipgirl?" The cruiser almost shouted, the expensive cup of coffee shaking enough to slosh against its plastic lid. "Last I checked, we didn't have white skin and _glowing eyes!_"

It was insulting, in a way. To think one of her comrades would stoop so low! Pretending to be an Abyssal? Had anyone even thought of that?

"Normally, yes," He replied, taking a sip from his own coffee. "But the fine folks in the SPD think that's more likely than the alternative. If you weren't wrapped up in all this, you'd think the same, correct?"

Nashville, stubborn as ever, surrendered the point. It felt dirty, throwing the reputation of the Navy's Shipgirls overboard to keep her own failure a secret, but the flagship part of her knew there was too much else at stake.

"Good." He replied. "If anyone asks, that's the Navy's official stance on the incident."

The GPS interjected, and Murray pulled the SUV off the highway. Even after three months in the future, The cruiser still found the screen addiction everyone seemed to have unnerving. She'd known they were starting to catch on when she'd been scrapped, but no one in the 80's (besides perhaps George Orewell) would have suspected they'd reach such prominence.

Conversation between the two slacked as Nashville focused on the road. She wasn't nearly as susceptible to carsickness as airsickness, but the twists and turns the Lieutenant took required her full attention.

It wasn't long before the pair had reached their destination. Tucked into a cul-de-sac in the heart of a middle-class subdivision, the one-story house sat in the center of a small lot, nestled between bushes and out-of-season flowers. With it being fall, the two dormant trees had started blanketing the front lawn in a quilt of red and brown leaves.

If not for the man raking and bagging them, Nashville wouldn't be sure what path to take to the front door.

Mister Clarke was a man in his later years, a floppy hat obscuring his face in shadow as the SUV came to a halt. Nashville was the first out, her focus on looking professional overwhelming the instinct to fall behind her superior. At the Cruiser's approach, the civilian's eyes widened, showing he wasn't that old, but they almost immediately narrowed again.

"You're not NCIS."

"I'm not," She replied, failing to suppress a smirk at the man's Clint Eastwood impression. Making a note to actually watch one of his movies in the future, preferably with one of her sisters, the Cruiser heald out a hand. "USS Nashville, Office of Naval Intelligence."

Now, Murray was just behind her, and was certainly more qualified for speaking to civilians or… humans in general, but she saw an opportunity here. Sure, it would be awkward if she walked up to the civilian, then abruptly stood aside and let the driver do the talking, but it was more than that. She was pretty sure she knew everything about this incident that her self-assured partner did, and it wasn't like they were planning on doing anything too complicated here anyways. She might not be able to sink anything worth a damn, but she could pick up a civvie without someone holding her hand, right?

Ugh, calling herself a spook. She'd have to wash her mouth later.

"ONI? But that would mean…" The man trailed off, his suspicion replaced with a quiet horror. If it hadn't mirrored the general attitude of Nashville and the rest of the Navy, she would have enjoyed the his abrupt change in attitude.

"The police might not believe her," Murray finally spoke up, taking his position next to Nashville, "but we don't like taking chances when Abyssals could be involved."

"I see." He responded, turning away from the pair. "I'll check to see if she's awake. Come on in."

As the man waved them in, Nashville caught the Lieutenant's questioning look.

"Looking for a transfer?" He whispered, and Nashville flushed.

"At this rate, I think you might be the commander for longer then the Admiral." She gripped, not quite deflecting the question.

"Don't worry." He added, giving Nashville a light pat on the back before entering the house. "I'll make a spy out of you yet."

It took the cruiser a few seconds to follow. Her, a spy? But Lieutenant Murray was just some intel weenie, not some secret agent! What, did he expect her to paint herself white and sneak up on Abyssal Installations? Weren't submarines for that?

How was he always catching Nashville off guard?

* * *

Elizabeth Clarke was a woman who clearly hadn't had enough sleep. Nashville knew a sleep-deprived watch officer when she saw one, and while she didn't look anything like one of her old crews, the signs weren't that different. The large… drink (She wasn't sure something with that much cream and sugar could be considered coffee) they'd grabbed on the way back to Lewis-McChord had helped, but judging by the way she was nursing it the drink hadn't finished its job yet.

According to the police report, Elizabeth had the store's late watch. The old woman probably wasn't used to waking up this early, even when she hadn't lost sleep to a close encounter an eldritch abomination and the local police. Could they count on her remembering last night's events accurately?

They didn't have a choice, though. The fact that the Abyssal now had access to a human wardrobe had already been passed down the 7th Infantry's command structure, but with how much of a bitch tracking the monster was proving to be, they needed this information… last night, actually.

"That help?" Nashville asked, motioning to the cup. The nod she got in reply was slow and lazy, but it was a reply. There wasn't much else to do in the featureless interrogation room, so the Cruiser pressed on.

"Glad to hear it." She started, The Brooklyn's mind reviewing possible avenues of approach. Nashville wasn't supposed to be interrogating her until Murray returned, but she had been told to keep an eye on the woman. Nothing crazy had happened to the crew of the _Pacific Lilly_, such as slow descents into madness or horrible transformations into abyssals themselves, but their target was full of surprises. If being prepared for something as crazy as that made the Navy look paranoid, then…

They probably were. Look, you can't fight eldritch abominations becoming a little loony yourself, alright?

"I hear you had a hell of a night."

Elizabeth finally looked away from her coffee, unshadowing the bags under her eyes. She took a deep breath, letting it out before speaking up.

"You could say that." She hedged, before her face hardened. Suddenly, Nashville found herself on the receiving end of an interrogative glance, all signs of the woman's drowsiness replaced with a cold suspicion. "You knew, didn't you?"

It would take a lot more than an old lady with a stern expression to cow the Cruiser, but Nashville would admit her sudden change caught her off-guard.

"Uh, you mean about the Abyssal?" At her nod, Nashville leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. They weren't technically interrogating her, so instead of the uncomfortable fold-out chairs that normally furnished the interrogation room they were enjoying seats poached from the nearby office. "We didn't."

That's how you lie, right?

"There's a lot about this incident that doesn't add up." The light cruiser continued. "Despite the fact we've been fighting them for years, we still know next-to-nothing about these things. Is this a new Abyssal tactic? A Renegade? We don't know." Nashville shrugged, transitioning to another falsehood. "Hell, we're not even sure the suspect is an abyssal."

"She is." Elizabeth asserted. "I wasn't _that _tired."

"We'll find out, I'm sure." Nashville replied. "The Lieutenant should be back any time now."

As if on cue, the door to the interrogation room swung open, and a laptop-bearing Murray entered.

"How's your morning been, Misses Clarke?" He said affiliably, laying his laptop on the table.

"Early. I usually get up around this time, but normally I get to sleep a lot… earlier…" Elizabeth's reply trailed off as the Spook placed a sheet of paper on the table, sliding it over to the civilian.

"It's an NDA." He clarified, handing the woman a pen. "You can read through it while I get set up, but the gist is this: We may disclose sensitive information during this interview. By signing this, you are agreeing not to talk about the events of this interview. In return, you can expect compensation once this matter is resolved." At her nod, the spook returned to his work, folding the laptop open.

"That's a pretty big college fund…" Elizabeth murmured, drawing Nashville's attention away from her colleague. The Cruiser leaned over, skimming the legalese for any big numbers, and recoiled.

Maybe her sense of money was stuck in the 80s, but the sum the contract stipulated seemed _obscene_. What, did Elizabeth have twenty kids? Sure, effectively bribing civilians would do a much better job than relying on them to do their patriotic duty, but if everyone the Abyssal ran into needed this much hush money the cost was going to add up quickly.

Wordlessly, Elizabeth scribbled her signature across the bottom of the page. Murray accepted the contract with a nod before turning the laptop screen so all three- and the wall of one-way glass behind them- could see it.

"Now, let's get started."

The screen bore the grainy image of a parking lot, sparse street lights lighting a lonely car. At a tap of the laptop's space bar, it sprung to life, the darkness surrounding the vehicle crawling with… static? No, that wasn't the term for digital video. What was it called again? Something artifacts?

Nashville's wandering thoughts were refocused as a woman entered the camera's field of view. Even with her head facing away from them and the poor quality of the feed, Nashville immediately recognized the civilian that shared the room with her. As the woman made her way towards her vehicle, another appeared.

"There she is." Nashville commented, the Abyssal's massive cape and unkempt hair recognizable anywhere. Due to the camera's angle, Nashville couldn't determine how she'd entered, but even in the darkness she must have been visible long before entering the feed.

"She was just walking behind me." Elizabeth murmured, "I must have been more tired than I thought."

"When did you notice her?" Murray asked, and Elizabeth pointed.

"Around… here." She said. "She grabs the car's door after I get in."

Really? They were practically on top of each other by that point. Were civilians really that blind? Granted, Elizabeth couldn't rely on her watchmen to prevent someone from getting too close, and they _did_ get tired faster than ships like her, but…

The three watched the Abyssal standing there, Murray walking the Civilian through the unheard conversation and her thoughts.

"Food?"

"That's what she's asked about." Elizabeth replied, "She wanted to know if there was food in the store." Hesitantly, the woman added. "Since she could just walk in, I told her the truth."

On the feed, the Abyssal abruptly turned, revealing her face as she approached the Fred Meyers building. In the video's low quality, her eyes were nothing but blue-and-orange orbs. Almost immediately after, Elizabeth hopped out herself.

"You followed her?" Nashville asked, but the Lieutenant piped up before Elizabeth could reply.

"She's being coerced." The Spook announced, and at the Civilian's affirming nod continued. "Even being next to an Abyssal is a threat of violence."

"Yes." Elizabeth added. "Good thing, too. Otherwise she would have destroyed my store trying to get in."

_Except that meant the police would have arrived a lot sooner._ Nashville added, but only to herself. She had no doubts as to the chances the lightly-armed cops would have in a firefight with a Wo-class carrier, even with Ranger special forces nearby. It would have been bloody, to say the least. Even if it meant they eventually caught her, would the chaos and destruction have been worth it?

_Guess that depends on what she plans to do._

"How did you stop her from damaging your property?" Murray continued, unaware of his partner's inner turmoil.

"Warned her about the alarm… here." Elizabeth responded, as the abyssal abruptly stopped and turned again. The camera feed had changed to one of the store's back entrances, and the woman was just barely out-of-shot. "After that she demanded my keys, so I went back to get them."

After the three watched the conversation in silence, the feed changed again as Elizabeth ran back to her car. She leaned over, her search obscured by the vehicle's roof. Half a minute passed in silence.

"Did you lose your keys?" The Lieutenant finally asked. Apparently, he wasn't alone in his thoughts, as the Abyssal soon re-entered the camera's point-of-view.

"I was trying to call 911, as well." Elizabeth admitted, and winced as the Abyssal almost casually leaned over the human's shoulder.

"You lived?" Nashville asked, not sure if she was incredulous or just confused. "Did she not know what a cell phone was?"

"She thought I was contacting the Navy-er, you."

"She learns pretty quick, then." Lieutenant Murray leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple in his first breach in composure that day.

"She did." Elizabeth confirmed, using a tone of voice that implied nothing good.

This was going to be a long interview.

* * *

"This is what a happy abyssal looks like, huh?"

The Alpha Sierra's demeanor had completely changed. As the Abyssal in the feed cleared the store's aisles, last night's Elizabeth weakly following behind her, Nashville felt… conflicted.

The way the monster would dash between aisles, picking items from the shelves and ogling sweets, portrayed a sense of naked wonder. Nashville was familiar with the feeling, like when she'd watched a 3D printer work or entered a movie theater for the first time. She was reminded of the warship's flustered negotiations with Lieutenant Murray, although the fact she'd ultimately escaped tempered the impression of naivety.

She had been told that abyssals were nothing but creatures of hate and destruction, but reflecting on it the focus had only been on their leaders, The Princesses. The rank-and-file, like the Wo they were chasing, were just obstacles, a threat if underestimated but never strategically influential on their own. Finding one to be relatable was… a little jarring.

It didn't really matter, though. History taught that even the most benign people were capable of terrible damage. At the end of the day, it didn't matter who the Fugitive Princess (and didn't that nickname suddenly feel out of place?) was, but what she was going to do. Even her little romp through the supermarket had caused measurable harm, while public knowledge of her whereabouts could be disastrous.

When the Wo suddenly lingered in front of a fruit stand, Nashville's thoughts were refocused.

"What's so important about those Pineapples?"

"Perhaps she's based from a location where they're rare." Murray replied, thoughtful. "That would narrow our origin candidates quite a lot."

"Actually…" Elizabeth interrupted, shrinking in on herself when the two Navy personnel looked at her. "She'd started wondering about the price tags."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two mulled over that statement. In a way, it made sense. A former steel-hulled ship, having been launched, sailed, and sunk in a world of trade, would have a good grasp of money. However, what reason was there for a princess to pass that knowledge to their underlings?

"I can see that." Murray allowed, watching the Abyssal turn to address the CCTV's Elizabeth. "She asking about it now?"

"Yes." The civilian replied. The two Navy personnel watched the conversation unfold as Elizabeth walked them through it.

"Get a job?" Nashville added, her tone implying she meant to add 'Really?'

"What else was I supposed to tell her?" Elizabeth defended. "The safe is out back, don't hurt it to much?"

Nashville groaned, leaning back in her chair.

"Well, It's not like there's any chance she could get one, anyway. Too obvious." Who in their right mind would hire someone with glowing eyes, anyways? As confirmation, she switched her attention to Murray, only to feel her boiler pressure spike. "Please tell me no one's that stupid."

That was not the face of someone who agreed with you. Following the Lieutenant's gaze, the Light Cruiser found herself focusing again on Elizabeth Clarke.

"Actually…"

* * *

"She can turn the eye glow off?"

Even the unshakable Lieutenant Murray was sounding defeated. There was something about his question that undermined his confident persona, a hint of the resignation that was seeping into Operation Absolute Railway at every level.

This time Nashville was expecting Elizabeth's nod, because of _fucking _course she can. Just like she _obviously _had to raid a supermarket with clothes and makeup instead of a mere grocery store.

"So, let me summarize." Nashville stated, feeling a need to vent as the feed's Abyssal took her leave from the cosmetics stands. "We have an Abyssal, with access to beauty products to cover her skin, knowledge of basic human behavior to keep her head down, and enough clothes to give all of seventh fleet a new outfit?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded feebly.

Defeated, Nashville sighed, leaning back and allowing Murray to take over completely. What more was there to know? The population of Washington was… big, and the Abyssal now looked like a good portion of it. How the hell could they stop her now? All they could really do was get a description of her clothes and pass it along to the grunts on the perimeter. Otherwise, she was out of ideas.

Unless…

"If she tries to get a job, it's going to create a paper trail, right? Some kind of form we can find?"

Murray shook his head, and the Light Cruiser suddenly got the sense that she was being patronized.

"We don't have the resources to go through every application in the Washington Department of Labor, and even before the war a large amount of employment was undocumented. With the refugee crisis? Unless the NSA has a secret technique to finding people I'm not aware of, she might be gone for good."

The Spook cupped his face in his hands, muttering to himself. "Hell, it might take weeks to convince NORTHCOM to let a domestic intelligence agency to get involved, and by that point she could be anywhere in North America."

Shit. Guess they had to hope the 7th infantry got lucky, didn't they?

When the Abyssal abruptly stripped in front of the camera, Nashville couldn't even summon the energy to rib Miller about it.

"She has an Essex's lines, that's for sure."

It was a weak joke, and Murray treated it as such.

"Twelve Dual-Purpose 5-inchers." The spook replied, his voice grim. "Hundreds of Bofors and Oerlikons. Just under a hundred aircraft. Location unknown."

That had to be the most polite way of saying 'we're screwed' Nashville had ever heard.

* * *

**This was two chapters on SB and SV, but they were ****supposed to be one interlude. Here, I can get away with a bit of a longer wordcount****. I had another scene planned after this, but it relied on the idea that the ship USS Brooklyn had better quarters for VIPs, but my last-minute research couldn't confirm that so I scratched the scene.**

**As for potential NSA involvement, I'm not entirely sure. Option 2 for Murray is contacting a private investigator to help track down the Wo, which would need less bureaucratic red tape and allow him/her to get to work faster, but I'm not sure if that's realistic.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!**


	21. Road Trip

"How about now?"

The petty officer took a few steps backwards, admiring his detail's handywork, before looking down at the binder of photos cradled in her hands. After a few seconds of leafing through the binder, and to the Wo Class's growing consternation, she gave her head a decisive shake.

"_Hey, hey hey_."

Trinitite suppressed a groan, glaring at the fairy as she puckered her lips. When the Aircraft Carrier had asked her paint-and-chip detail to apply the cosmetics she'd commandeered, the Wo-class hadn't expected to spend two hours lying face-up in a ditch. The perfectionist little bastards would spend a good minute experimenting with one product, seeing what it did to one of her hands, before removing it with a fire hose and trying to apply it to the Wo-class's growing disguise.

As a Carrier who'd spent the majority of her time guarding convoys, Trinitite considered herself a patient ship. Lying down for a few hours wouldn't normally be an issue for her. The paint-and-chip detail was learning a new skill, after all, and the rest of her crew had time to perform more repairs, but this was the fourth time they'd asked her to do this. She just needed red lips! They couldn't mess it up that badly, could they?

Once again, two of her crew hoisted the container of lipstick, a third popping removing the cap and darting to the side. Resting the container on their shoulders, the two eased forward, dragging the product across Trinitite's mouth. Again.

"Are you done?" The frustrated Wo queried as the two withdrew. The seconds dragged on as the fairy studied Trinititie's face, before he finally nodded.

"_Hey_."

"_Thank the deep_."

Trinitite stayed in place for just long enough for her crew to reboard, before hopping back onto her feet. She needed to shake herself of a few dry needles, but the grass she'd found in a forest clearing ensured her clothes weren't _too _dirty. Her skin, however?

She couldn't be sure. Peering into a nearby pond revealed a… tan face, but a nearby brook left the surface of the pond in just enough turmoil that the Abyssal couldn't get a good reflection.

She'd have to trust them. If they spent more than an hour on just her face, they had to have done a good job, right?

She could check later. Some of the food she'd picked up in last night's raid had a reflective enough container, and the vehicle she'd stepped into had plenty mirrors to get a good look.

More importantly, she needed to recover her bearings. The ride she'd gotten last night was useful, but it left her a little unsure as to where exactly she'd been left. The "road map," a collection of more detailed charts in a fairly large book, was secure in her chartroom, but with the lights in her island out she couldn't get a read on it during the ride the State Trooper gave her.

The cloud system she'd followed into The States had finally passed on, leaving the sun to batter her skin and flood into flight control. Still, The Abyssal's chart room remained aphoticly dark. Trinitite's disguise was proving more inconvenient than she thought. Some battle lanterns would solve the problem, but at this point…

A short request left the road map in her hands, the sun allowing Trinitite a better view than any flashlight would. Let's see, when Trinitite had been picked up, she'd been… here.

_Shelton._

From there, the State Trooper had driven largely south-east, on this road labeled 101. That road lead to, uh…

The carrier turned the page. No road 101. She turned to the page before it. No road 101. The carrier flipped back to the front of the book, to a map which displayed all of… Washington, the title said. Wasn't she in the United States?

Ahh, 'States.' Plural. She'd have to look into getting more of these 'Road maps' in the future.

Trinitite placed her finger at her last known position, flipping back to the map she'd started at. So far, so good. That would mean she'd gone through the map on this page, then this one.

Road 101 abruptly turned south and split in Olympia. Trinititite didn't remember the Trooper's vehicle doing any abrupt moves northwest or directly south, so she must be near there. After that, she took a nap in that patch of trees, before moving out of the town as dawn approached. That would put her… Somewhere southwest of Olympia?

Well, she had a rough bearing. She could walk until she ran back into a highway, then check her map. At that point, she could follow the highway to the major port she'd spotted on her charts.

"Seattle..."

Situated deep in Puget Sound, the city was an amazing anchorage. However, looking more at the map Trinitite could pick out seven or eight other towns that would be good candidates for a search. Who knew which ports the Navy had set up in? Would she have to check all of them?

Several of these candidates where to the west of her, however, and doubling back into the military's search area didn't seem like a particularly good idea. Maybe, if Trinitite couldn't find her princess in other US ports and her enemy had been given the time to focus on other matters, she'd return there for a more thorough look.

Should she be heading to Seattle at all, or go to a farther port?

Trinitite shook her head, folding her map back up and starting northwest. Her recent raid had gotten her plenty of supplies to recon Seattle, but it certainly wasn't infinite. If she was in Puget Sound that that city would be the best to check, and if she detoured Trinitite knew the possibility would eventually become unbearable.

How long was that going to take? The Abyssal hadn't been able to put much thought into it when she was attempting landfall, but it had taken her four days to cross 80, maybe 90 miles, and a portion of that was with assistance from a ground vehicle. Trinitite was used to distances like that taking three hours to cover, at worst. She never thought this would be easy, but Trinitite's mission was growing increasingly daunting.

With a grunt, the carrier pulled a can of beans from her inventory, tossing the tin can a good foot into the air before catching it again. The sun filtering through the trees caught the metal lid for just a moment, sending a concentrated beam into Trinitite's bridge. The Abyssal flinched, allowing the food to tumble into the grass below.

The carrier tightened her jaw, scooping up the can of food and tearing the lid off with her teeth. Complications were going to happen, new information would force her to reassess, and her plans were going to flounder more often than not, but she would keep going. It wasn't like she could give up, even if she wanted to.

CFS Trinitite leaned back, allowing cool mix of salted meat and… something to pour down her mouth. Unless she was sunk- no, destroyed, as sinking into the soil she was standing would be impressive- no distance, fleet, or power above and below water would dissuade her. It might take a month, it might take a year, but Trinitite would find her Princess. She had nothing else to do, after all.

* * *

"Does that actually work?"

The human on the side of the road hadn't grabbed Trinitite's attention, at first. Like many of the humans she'd seen while traveling through Olympia, a spattering of short hairs dotted his chin and cheeks, while the hair that did poke out from his maroon hat was short and regular. A loose coat, presumably for the rain, was tied around his waist. If not for the sign the man held in front of him, he would have gone unnoticed.

NEED GAS TO REACH FAMILY. ANY MONEY HELPS.

Trinitite had been _trying _to act inconspicuous. The Carrier stuck to the side of the roads like the other humans, crossed at the designated areas everyone seemed to be using, and had managed to avoid talking to anybody until now. However, the man's sign had baffled the abyssal so thoroughly she couldn't keep to herself. You could just ask for money? What did people expect in return?

The human had sparred Trinitite a glance before she'd spoken, giving the Abyssal a polite smile, but was looking elsewhere when she asked the question.

"I'm not sure." He shrugged. "You got anything that can help?"

Trinitite shook her head. She wasn't giving the man any of her food, but if she did, could he use that to trade for money? Now wasn't the time to think about that, but...

The maroon hat he was wearing came off, and the human wiped his brow. "Yeah, I thought so. So far? It's been two hours and no luck." He replaced his cap, sending Trinitite a thin smile. "If you needed money, I'd suggest getting a loan from your parents."

'Parents?' As in, more than one? How did that work? Of course, she wasn't going to voice her concerns here, but she made a mental note to investigate that in the future.

Instead, the Carrier replied with a non-committal "Ah."

That should have been the end of it. She'd learned what she'd wanted, and interacting with the human had been a bit of a risk. Before she could leave, however, the human _just had to keep talking._

"So how's your day been?"

The Abyssal froze. She was supposed to keep talking? How were you supposed to answer that?

"I've, uh… It's been normal?"

Yeah, normal. Average, like any other human's day.

The response seemed to work well enough, as the man nodded.

"Take care, then!"

She wasn't sure what to say, but she'd already started walking away. How did you end a conversation with a human? 'Fair Seas?' 'Good luck?'

Yeah, that one should work. She'd turned to tell the man that, but by that point she'd already put too much distance between the two. The embarrassed carrier had to settle for a simple nod.

Not the best way to end a conversation, but She would get better. Trinitite could still remember when her crew couldn't even work her boilers properly. Learning how to talk to people couldn't be that hard.

* * *

She was listening to human's transmissions again. When the Carrier had first thought to do so, she'd felt a muted sense of dread, but Trinitite could only watch so many cars passing her before her morbid curiosity reasserted itself.

"_Some folk dances from Hungary, arranged for orchestra. This was Slovácko Verbuňk, performed by the Hungarian National Philharmonic._"

With how far she'd gotten, several of the transmitters she'd originally listened in on had passed out of range, while a new set of transmitters had entered into her range. Just as well, she hadn't been impressed with the last set. The same could be said about the new radio stations, with one exception.

"_Up next, we have a much slower but perhaps more recognizable piece: Antonín Dvořák's Largo, from his New World Symphony._"

This frequency was starting to grow on her. Advertisements weren't an assault of noise and shouting, but instead simple thanks for people who helped keep the transmission going. The music wasn't interrupted by somebody shouting about love, scary hotels that trap you inside forever, or whatever other nonsense the Abyssal couldn't extract meaning from, no matter how much she wasted time contemplating it.

With nothing to distract her beyond the passing cars and music, Trinitite found herself focusing on her radio as she walked. She didn't know humans well, at all, but she couldn't help but feel for whomever built this music. Now that she wasn't trying to figure out what someone was trying to say, she could tell the sound itself was conveying something deeper. There was a meaning there, a sense of wonder, maybe? The abyssal could only guess as to the creator's true meaning, but she could certainly find her own.

Contemplating the piece was pleasant, until the roar of jet engines reminded Trinitite of her situation. A military aircraft roared over her head, so low the Carrier could count the individual bombs slung under its wings. _Deep_, there were a lot of them, and was that thing on the front a gun?

The flying cross would only be moving that low and slow if it was trying to land.

That meant a lot of things, each of varying importance to the Abyssal: The aircraft she'd seen a few days earlier must also have been loaded like this, meaning they certainly had been looking for her.

More importantly, though, was that anywhere something like that wanted to land wasn't where she wanted to be. The Abyssal adjusted her speed, her inconspicuous walk becoming a brisk jog.

Sure, she was disguised, but cruising this close to an enemy airbase? Best not to test her luck by lingering.

* * *

**Here's another part, and a PyrrhicSteel classic "half a chapter whose word-count ran away from the author." So, here's some minor Trinitite shenanigans before the bottom really falls out for her in Seattle.**

**In other news: You've caught up! That means a lot of things:**

**As everything I've written for this story is now of , you won't be seeing me release chapters in batches of three anymore. Expect a minor drop in quality, too, as I won't have the ****opportunity**** to make another revision pass before putting chapters up here.**

**It also means I can also be more responsive to feedback: Thank you very much for your reviews and suggestions so far, and now I can both respond to them a bit more ****responsibly**** and take feedback into account better!**

**Not much to say beyond that, however, as the status quo didn't change much. Next chapter, however? _It's happening._**


	22. Not as planned

By the time Trinitite had entered the area her map designated "Seattle", the day had drawn to a close. The sun had set, but night never really seemed to fall around here.

This was especially true for Seattle. The sheer volume of light the city put off was stunning. Light shone from every building Trinitite saw, every vehicle that passed the Abyssal, and even a mind-bogglingly large amount of posts that lined every road and walkway! From there, it reflected off the roads, nearby trees, the clouds that had recently rolled in, and even the oily-smelling fog that cast the town in a glowing aura.

How did they keep this many lights active. It must have required an army of maintenance ships to keep replacing so many bulbs. Were they even incandescent?

The city was so radiant the Wo had trouble drawing parallels to the ruins she was familiar with. Was Seattle smaller than Jakarta, or five times as large? Maybe if the Carrier could launch a scouting aircraft in the daytime, she would know, but that was obviously out of the question.

It was all so overwhelming.

In an effort to stay inconspicuous, the Wo-class had tried to stick to crowds, which remained thick even at this hour. That, too, had surprised her. She could comprehend a crowd, ships weren't known for being spacious, after all, but the sheer _variety _of humans was left her off balance. There were men and women, of course, and Her Princess had prepared her for that much, but their size! Some were _tiny_, escorting larger humans around the city (or was it the other way around?), while others seemed so bloated she couldn't understand how their underpowered human legs could carry them! Others were wire-thin, their skin covered in wrinkles and small hairs, while others had lost their hair entirely!

And the colors! Hair, skin, clothes- Elizabeth had told her there was a meaning behind what someone wore, but what about their hair? Trinitite never paid much attention to her own, but it looked like a lot of these looked like they required a lot of maintenance. Why? What about skin? The Abyssal was proof that one could change their skin color. Was that a statement, too?

Trinitite tried very hard to ignore these questions, but they continued to nag at her while she focused on more important topics. The chances Mother- or the thing that use to be her- was in Seattle was pretty slim, but it certainly felt most likely. Now, how was she going to search the city?

Trinitite took a step away from the foot traffic, opening her road map directly under one of the large street lights. Let's see, she'd folded the corner of all the charts which included the city itself. The fact that there was more than one was a little daunting, but she didn't need to check everything, right?

There were a lot of piers in this city, but she probably only had to worry about the military-owned ones. Trinitite doubted determining if something was truly Navy would be particularly difficult. They seemed like the kinds of people who'd slap their name on everything they did.

Hmm, 'Harbor Island' looks promising. It wasn't too far, either. Maybe she should start-

_Surface contact, 500 yards!_

Something stirred in the corner of Trinitite's vision, and all her questions were immediately forgotten.

There, _practically on top of her_, was a transport, two- no, _six destroyers_, a light cruiser and an Escort Carrier!

The Abyssal froze. Had they seen her? No, they were too busy talking and laughing with each other. That was going to change, though, and soon!

Uh… hide! She needed to put something between them and her, like a smoke screen or a squall or something. Frantically, Trinitite searched the area around her, before her sight focused on a gap between buildings. _There_.

Before she'd even realized it, her feet were carrying her towards the gap, a human in her path letting out a surprised yelp as she narrowly avoided a collision.

The Wo-class cursed she continued down the alleyway, weaving around bins and jumping over a human slouched against one of the buildings. If they hadn't noticed her already, her sudden dash- and the commotion it caused- made sure they did. Why did she have to panic!

_Stupid, stupid W-_

The Abyssal was so busy chastising herself she didn't notice the Chain-Link strung across her path until she'd rammed into it at flank. The thing gave away with a yelp and a series of snaps, her foot caught in the collapsing fence for just long enough for the Abyssal to lose her balance. She tumbled forwards, sliding across the concrete until she came to a stop against a vehicle parked in front of her.

The Abyssal groaned, rolling onto her back. Things were going to get much worse, and soon. Especially if the ships she'd spotted had decided to give pursuit.

The thought was enough to get Trinitite on her feet and running again. What she'd just witness had a lot of implications, but she couldn't afford to consider them until the Carrier had shaken her pursuers.

Again.

* * *

Akatsuki… wasn't entirely sure what she'd just witnessed.

The football game had been loud, crowded and confusing. The Destroyer never liked sailing alone, but there must have been thousands of people there, all shouting and jumping…

It was exhausting, but Akatsuki guessed she could see why it had taken off, even back home. If she hadn't made such a fool of herself during the halftime show, she might have enjoyed herself.

The Destroyer's cheeks flushed at the memory. How was she supposed to know a football was that fragile? So unladylike…

"The crowd, the combat…" Akatsuki's division leader gushed, drawing the destroyer away from her embarrassment. Tenryuu laughed to herself, swinging a dark blue thunderstick around her in excitement. "That was great!"

"Would have been better if the Refs were on _our _side…" The American destroyer in their group groused, Fletcher adjusting her Giants cap and sending the other Americans an exaggerated pout.

The Destroyer's accusing glare seemed to be ineffective, however. The Liberty Ship Robert E Peary returned it with a smug smile, while Ommaney Bay was much more vocal. The escort carrier's voluminous red hair and oversized jersey shook as she laughed.

At least someone had enjoyed the game.

Akatsuki's attention had returned to the rest of her division. Inazuma, despite being as overwhelmed as Akatsuki had been, seemed to be as excited as the Americans were. Ikazuki was a lost cause from the beginning, clad in as more football memorabilia than Akatsuki thought possible. Hibiki, however-

_Capital Ship, about four-fifty meters west._

Huh? Who could that be?

The Carrier- and looking for herself it seemed obvious- was frantically searching the road around her, a gigantic booklet of some kind clutched in her hands. Even for a fleet carrier, she seemed massive, bigger than any CV Akatsuki had seen in her old life. One of Intrepid's sisters, maybe?

Before Akatsuki could ask, however, the ship broke into a sprint, narrowly avoiding a pedestrian as it dashed into an alleyway.

One moment passed, as the Destroyer realized the group had fallen into silence.

"Anyone else see that?"

Akatsuki wasn't the only one who'd spotted the mysterious carrier, as almost half of the impromptu fleet replied to Peary's question.

"Anyone know her?" Tenyruu, of course, was the first to ask the obvious question.

"No…" Fletcher replied, before continuing. "But I haven't seen all of the Essexes. Maybe she was part of the Seattle Express with you guys?"

With Abyssal installations at Wake, Midway, and Dutch Harbor, keeping a link between Japan and America's breadbasket had become harder and harder. DesDiv 6, along with a good portion of both nations' navies, had an almost permanent job of protecting the massive convoys required to punch through abyssal territory. The specifics were beyond the destroyer, beyond the fact her Admiral wanted her watching Football games and exploring American cities "to build comradery."

Still, the convoy's screen was _massive_, and try as she might Akatsuki couldn't remember everyone she'd sailed with to get here.

"Shangri-la" Hibiki murmured, and the group's Carrier lit up.

"That's right!" Ommaney Bay exclaimed, bouncing some more. "She's a part of your convoy, right? I heard the ONI grabbed her right after she made landfall!"

Akatsuki nodded, although she'd never heard the rumor. Ommaney Bay's home was Everett, so she had to be more in tune with the local rumor mill. It was an exciting thought, though. What would ONI want from a carrier?

Something stirred in Akatsuki's mind, another rumor from a previous life.

"She's the one that did the raid with medium bombers, right?"

Silence. Akatsuki spared a moment to look at the three Americans in their group, shrinking a little at their questioning look.

"Doolittle?"

"Ohh…" Fletcher finally replied, removing her hat and taking a moment to fix her hair. "That was Hornet. The President called her Shangri-la because he didn't want you guys to know the real Carrier who did it."

"But what did-" Tenryruu asked, cutting herself off as realization dawned. "Ohh, so they named her after a fake ship, who was named after a fake country?" At Fletcher's nod, the Light Cruiser broke into a grin. "That's pretty badass, actually."

"Well, regardless of her name, I hear she's a little… loopy." Peary spoke up, restarting their walk. "Why don't we get back to our parking space and let her continue doing… whatever she was doing."

"Agreed." Tenryuu added, although someone as familiar with her as Akatsuki was knew she didn't, really. "Let's go, kids."

"_Hai_."

Akatsuki wanted to have to ask about the strange carrier later, but sticking her prow into other ship's business wasn't all that ladylike, was it?

Besides, Tenryuu had promised them ice cream after the half time debacle, and she still hadn't decided what flavor to get. The odd Essex would have to sort out her own problems.

* * *

She needed a new plan.

The ships she'd seen didn't have their rigging out, weren't wearing a uniform and certainly didn't seem to be acting unusual, but she'd still instantly identified them. She'd seen directly through their disguise, meaning they'd probably done the same. This was devastating!

Enemy ships on the water would have no problem picking her out on shore, while every nearby city would be crawling with unwitting patrols. How was she supposed to reconnoiter any of the enemy's naval bases? Since her disguise now was _significantly_ less effective, Trinitite would need a new approach. Could her scouting aircraft get a good enough view of the base, or would that be risking hell divers for nothing? How did submarines do this?

She could only panic for so long, however. It still wouldn't be impossible, just more difficult. Already a new plan was forming, although at this stage calling it a 'plan' would be generous.

Of course, every operation was built on logistics. Maybe Trinitite's view of strategy was tainted by her experience guarding convoys, but without a fresh source of supplies her options seemed much more limited. Sure, her earlier raid bought her a lot of flexibility, but those supplies weren't going to last forever and the navy was probably going to be ready for another raid.

Luckily, the human's supply system was perfect for streamlining logistics. Trinitite didn't need to negotiate separate deals for constant food, raw materials, and fuel, but only needed a source of this 'money'.

A job, then. If almost every human had one, how hard could it be?

First off, Trinitite needed to distance herself from Seattle. The city on the opposite side of Lake Washington might still see the occasional naval outing, but it was a far away from Everett (which, judging by the map, seemed to be the primary naval station in the area) as she was willing to get.

"Welcome to Panda Express, what can I get for you?"

This building, located behind a runway filled with vehicles, seemed entirely dedicated to serving cooked food. Since a new day had dawned, it had just opened, but it still seemed to be crawling with activity. When the Abyssal had entered, a peculiar smell filled her bridge, and her attention was drawn inexorably towards the cafeteria-style bar not too dissimilar to Trinittite's own mess. The food was… unfamiliar, but Trinitite recognized the white pellets from the fishing trawler. Could this food be just as dangerous?

It didn't matter.

"I saw your help wanted sign."

Like a switch had been flipped, the woman's countenance changed from an empty politeness to cold assessment. Instinctively, the Wo flinched, as her gaze wouldn't have looked out of place on some of the more dangerous Princesses.

"We do all our applications online." She started. "You should be able to find them at panda-careers-dot-com, but googling 'panda' should get you there without an issue. Just fill out the application, upload your resume, and we'll email you when we've looked at it."

By this point, Trinitite thought she'd gotten used to unexpected aspects of human society. With the sheer scale of Seattle and the destroyed cities she'd seen, it would be surprising if she _didn't_ encounter human vocabulary, sayings, and methods that she didn't understand. This, though? This was _an order of magnitude_ more confusing than she'd prepared for.

Where could she start decoding that statement? On what line? Where was dotcom, and how did goggles help in finding it? Was she supposed to have this 'Resume' pre-prepared, or did every human already have one? What even _was_ email?

The human had said it so matter-of-factly, too! Was everyone supposed to know this stuff?

The overwhelmed Abyssal felt her cheeks flush as she met the Human's expectant gaze. Eyes behind her were boring into her back, and suddenly the Carrier felt dangerously exposed. Again.

"Ah."

"Anything I can get you?"

She'd lost this one. The human's question was a dismissal, plain and simple.

"Uh… no." Trinitite replied, backing out of the line.

"Have a nice day!"

And with that, the Human's attention shifted to the man behind Trinitite. She'd been merciful enough not to dwell on the Wo's failure, but Trinitite could feel the gaze of several other humans as she retreated from the building.

Getting a job was going to be harder than she thought.

* * *

**Surprise DesDiv6!**

**In all honesty, I hadn't planned for them to be there. I wanted an east coast ship and a west coast ship, but the idea of googling Japanese ships Fletcher had encountered popped into my mind and after a little research I had to add them. Tenyruu seems more like a hockey fan, though. Hope I got their characters right, as a last-minute addition of minor characters I didn't spend too much time trying to get their feel down.**

**I've never been a huge fan of football, but this seemed like the best way to put a bunch of ships in the middle of Seattle late at night.**

**On the topic of our unfortunate Wo, however, I gotta say I'm pretty hyped to start with this. Before we begin any real workplace shenanigans, she needs some proper job-finding skills. For that? **

**We're gonna need a montage.**


	23. Friendly Advice

How did the enemy's society function at all? Given the amount of success Trinitite had seen so far, everyone should have collapsed from exhaustion long before getting a job! The Carrier didn't have much of a problem walking so far, and her supplies were fine for now, but she started _five hours ago_!

_Online _this, _online _that. When the frustrated Abyssal finally asked what online even meant, the woman at the front of the desk laughed her out of the building!

At least she'd learned _something _from the experience. Passing up the Microsoft Fleet's other buildings in Redmond saved the Carrier a lot of time. There were so many of them, Trinitite was starting to think they owned this town!

Thinking further on the topic, avoiding those buildings was probably for the best. If such a thing as a Microsoft Princess existed, she would be here, and if Trinitite's encounter with the enemy's ships were such a disaster she couldn't imagine how catastrophic meeting a hostile princess would be.

Again, if she existed at all. It didn't _feel _like there was a Princess in Redmond, but with humans? Who knew?

That was a question to look into later. Maybe when she found a building with a library she'd look for a manual on the subject. That, along with what happened to her princess. Or, what exactly "Online" was. _Deep_, a guide to getting one of these elusive jobs would be welcome, too!

She was sure she'd run across one eventually, but going out of her way to find one didn't seem wise. For now?

"A brewery, huh?"

Obviously Trinitite didn't know what that was, but it had a help wanted sign, so it interested her. Not everyone used this strange line, right?

* * *

This was worse.

The bench sat at the side of the road, shaded from the sky by a metal overhang. A few hours ago and the structure would have been a welcome respite from the sun's glare, but another cloudfront had obscured the sun and rendered the roof redundant.

The defeated Carrier pouted, her rangefinders boring into the set of papers resting in her lap.

APPLICATION FOR EMPLOYMENT

She'd been prepared for the oddity of two names. That was about it, though. Address? _E-mail_ address? Telephone? This was the first section, _barely a quarter of the first page_, and Trinitite was completely stumped! On top of that, what Trinitite could understand she knew she'd have to fake, but the Abyssal had no chance of doing so convincingly. They wanted contact information of the last people she'd worked for, except she didn't even know what a proper address even looked like, let alone what salary or supervisor she'd had. What even was a salary, let alone a convincing one?

To add insult to injury, Trinitite was certain those 'Online Applications' she'd been pointed to were going to be just as complicated.

The task of finding a library was becoming more important by the hour.

Trinitite sighed, stowing the paper and stepping back into the open. Almost immediately, she was greeted by the periodic pinprick of rain against her hull.

At least this place had the weather going for it. A light storm was nothing compared to her Mother's mist, but it kept the sun away, and didn't overwhelm her with wind and noise like she'd seen around many Abyssal installations. She'd remove her hat so she could enjoy the rainfall fully, but her camoflauge didn't seem particularly waterproof.

The humans around her didn't seem to agree, huddling in on themselves as their paces quickened. Apparently they weren't such fans.

Whatever. She had so much to worry about already that acting like the rain, _the only thing she was actually enjoying_, bothered her? Let them be suspicious. It didn't seem like they were paying attention, anyways.

She had a library to find. Trinitite would keep fumbling through jobfinding, but it was starting to get more apparent that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

* * *

The town had seemed to be coming to an end, and Trinitite was considering turning around, before the buildings around her suddenly thickened again. That a town would suddenly thicken didn't surprise the Abyssal, given how close Seattle, Redmond, and other towns in the area were, but the sudden change in architecture certainly did.

With the possible exception of central Seattle and some of the destroyed cities she'd seen, human structures appeared to be fairly spaced out, the stone and concrete of the large buildings separated by enough space to park her hull between them. Even in the large cities, the underlying architecture had a certain sturdiness to it, the base supports hidden under decorative plaster or stone.

Not true for these new buildings, however. Businesses were crammed together like enlisted bunks, colorful signs displaying more languages than Trinitite knew existed. The buildings themselves were rickety conglomerations of lumber, concrete and plaster, giving Trinitite a strong impression of "good enough." Even the motor pools set in front of the businesses seemed hurried, cars and young trees sharing space with the prefabricated structures she'd occasionally seen towed behind larger vehicles along highways.

The Wo-class hadn't realised she'd gotten used to anything human, but to Trinitite's surprise, the sudden change in architecture seemed off putting. _Different_.

Perhaps that was a good thing?

Trinitite recognized the language on a lot of these signs from south-pacific ruins she'd passed. Were these run by humans who'd retreated from abyssal territory?

The regular American fleets clung to their applications and regulations, refusing the give Trinitite any more attention than was absolutely required, unless she had some of that money everyone was obsessed with. These might not have found the procedures the Americans used as alien as Trinitite had, but there was a chance they wouldn't cling to them as ridgedly.

Trinitite turned, leaving to road to approach one of the businesses at random. She wasn't entirely sure what every sign said, but one's display was _mostly _English.

"Luzon Blues."

The building was further labeled a 'Filipino Market' by text set at the bottom of the sign, but Trinitite could already guess to it's nature. In her two years on the oceans, She'd passed the island of Luzon more than she could count, sailing offshore during supply runs for the Depot Princess and the other Fleets that lived and bickered around the Philippines.

As such, she knew the island well. The dark but calm Manilla bay, a maze of structures ashore flooded by permanent storm surge. The Crane Princesses's former abode in the Casiguran Sound, the base of the _bitch _who threatened her mother calm, now the enemy had sunk her for good. The turbulent currents of the San Bernardino Strait, several Princesses's unique storms crashing to create eddies and currents no one could predict.

That wasn't the Luzon the shop owner had known, was it? The abyssal felt a tightening in her chest as she approached, the pressure in her running boiler rising slightly. She wouldn't say she felt _guilty_, as neither she nor her fleet had participated in the taking of the island, but the Wo could already feel some form of connection with whomever dwelled here. The war had driven them out of their home, just like it had done to her.

The building's windows were cluttered with sheets of paper, displaying text and images about one fleet or another. She could recognize one for the Navy, of course, but that of others as well. Apparently the nations which used to occupy Abyssal territory hadn't died with their cities. Above the mass of paper, three stars had been placed against the window. Two silver, and one gold. More importantly, a pair of signs hung against what little space on the windows was available.

"Come in, we're OPEN!"

"HELP WANTED."

She'd seen those before, and they always signaled an available job. With a moment to collect herself, the Carrier opened the hatch.

No sooner had the door opened than a bell chimed, the tingling noise catching the Carrier off-guard _again_. Many of the buildings she'd entered had this kind of alarm attached to it, but it's suddenness still caused the carrier to jump.

Outside, the soothing rain served to keep people occupied. The light downpour had kept them looking downwards, and almost no one had given Trinitite a glance, let alone detailed scrutiny. In here, the sudden noise, combined with her startled reaction, meant every pair of eyes in Luzon Blues were focused squarely on her.

Trinitite froze.

One of the women smiled.

"Welcome! Anything you're looking for?"

The Abyssal jerkily returned the woman's smile, her eyes darting over the Market itself. It was like the Fred Meyer's Warehouse in microcosm. The front of the building, where the human who'd greeted her stood, was crammed with food, vegetables and fruits piled like shells in a magazine. Glass-topped refrigerators filled the store with a low buzz, pink and red meats lit by the machine's internal lighting. Even some ice cream was visible, while further back several canned goods and less glamorous MREs were displayed. Beyond that, several T-shirts were hung against the walls. Besides the sigils of several nation's navies, most displayed symbols and phrases whose meanings which were one again beyond her.

"_And if this world runs out of lovers,_

"_We'll still have each other!_

"_Nothing's gonna stop us,_

"_Nothing's gonna stop us now!_"

The Abyssal suppressed a wince as the faint music echoed against the crowded building's walls. Did humans actually like this stuff?

Trinitite suddenly realized she was still standing in the doorway, the Human still expecting an answer.

"Oh! Uhh, yeah." The Wo replied, stepping out of the entrance as the door drifted shut. "I saw your help wanted sign."

"Ahh!" The human exclaimed, turning to another woman in a store uniform. To the Abyssal's shock, she started barking out commands in an entirely different language.

It shouldn't have been, as the multitude of signs decorating the new set of buildings were in all sorts of languages, but the store owner was speaking _exactly like the Supply Depot Princess_. As a security precaution, Her Mother's occasional ally forced her fleet to speak in Fillipino while tending to the Princess's warehouses. As the language was almost unique among the predominantly English and Japanese-speaking fleets surrounding her, any ship trying to steal her precious goods would be found out as soon as any member of their fleet tried to talk to them.

Trinitite had always thought the move unnecessarily, as the Paranoid Logistician's fleet was small enough everyone should have been able to recognize each other, but if the Wo-class regularly told Abyssal Princesses how to run their own fleets, she would have sunk a year ago.

Still, the way she spoke almost mirrored the mannerisms of Trinitite's occasional commander. She even had braided hair! It was like she was looking at a more subdued version of the Abyssal, excluding her dark skin, human clothes, and black hair.

She turned, directing a smile at Trinitite. Come to think of it, if she'd added a pair of glasses…

"Follow me. Let's get you an interview, eh?"

A what?

Well, she'd find out soon enough. Trinitite nodded, following the human to the rear of the shop. So far she wasn't facing the same kind of failure, so had she made progress?

Taking an unassuming door between a rack of dresses and several necklaces, the two found themselves in a much smaller backroom. Mysterious lights were set into the ceiling, releasing a buzzing noise almost quiet enough for the carrier to ignore. Several storage lockers were set alongside the top of a counter, with a few mysterious devices and what Trinititie was starting to recognize as a human refrigerator.

"I'm Ineng Palad. I run this place." She turned, raising a hand and letting it hang in front of her.

The first person she talked to was their commander? That was convenient.

"Elizabeth." Trinitite replied, some long-absent confidence making a resurgence. "Elizabeth Groves."

The Carrier wasn't sure what made a good human second name, but unlike things like email she actually knew what one looked like. Her fleet's destroyers had been given human names, the name 'Groves' in particular was one Trinitite wasn't going to forget.

Only one destroyer had sailed between Trinitite and a torpedo, after all. Using her name to help in the search of their lost Mother wasn't the finest honor the Carrier could give the late abyssal, but she wouldn't have taken offense.

The woman was still holding her hand out. Confused, the Carrier matched her, holding her hand out in the same manner. After another half-second's pause, Ineng suddenly moved. The Abyssal jumped, but not before the human's hand had wrapped around her glove. There was a brief shake, and the contact was suddenly released. The Wo's reaction must have caught the human off guard, as she lingered for a moment after releasing her grip.

"Take a seat." The human offered, motioning to one of the metal chairs scattered across the room. After the Abyssal did so, the oddly familiar human slid another chair in front of her. With several feet between the two, the human folded her hands in her lap.

"So, Elizabeth. Tell me about yourself."

"Alright…" Trinitite nodded, internally rehearsing the story she'd constructed over the past few days. "My name is Elizabeth Groves. I used to live in the Marshalls, but with the war…" Trinitite shook her head, allowing the human to finish her sentence.

"Pardon me for saying this," She nodded understandingly, "but you don't look like an islander."

"My mom's from New Jersey."

"Ahh." Ineng nodded. "You ever held a job before?"

"No." Trinitite admitted, fighting down a sudden rise in boiler pressure. She knew so little about jobs in general that pretending she knew what she was talking about was picking a battle Trinitite had no chance in. Still, admitting she had no experience might sabotage her chances.

"I can see that." Ineng nodded solemnly, before smiling. "Well, it's everyone's first job at some point, right?"

"Yeah." The Carrier nodded back, forcing a laugh. Unlike an Abyssal Princess, this human couldn't snap Trinitite's stern if the Carrier made her angry, but sucking up a little couldn't hurt too much.

"So," the human continued, "why do you want a job here?"

"Well," Trinitite started, unsure of the question. Wasn't it obvious? "I need one, and I saw your sign."

Ineng's face fell, and she leaned back in her chair. The Abyssal's shoulders stiffened as her own seat suddenly felt much less comfortable. Had she done something wrong? That was more likely than not, but in this case she had no idea how her response couldn't be correct. What kind of answer was she expecting?

"Have you ever been here before?"

'Uh…" Trinitite's mind raced, but try as she might she couldn't think of any response besides the obvious. "...No."

"Alright." The woman brought her hand to her head, absent-mindedly wiping her forehead. "I hate to say this directly, but you deserve to know: I don't think you're a good fit for my market."

"What?"

The abyssal felt like she'd been struck. She hadn't thought she'd set high expectations, but with how well things had been going, she was feeling some hope that she'd realize when things were going wrong, and at least have a chance to perform damage control, but her conversation had gone wrong so quickly.

"First: you don't seem fit for a service job. You didn't talk to a lot of people growing up, did you?"

The Abyssal fought down her resurgent pride, shaking her head.

"Yeah. If you need a quick job, I hear a lot of warehouses need hands around here. They don't need social experience, and you can develop some while you work."

"Okay." The Wo replied, remembering the last two warehouses she'd checked. She really needed to figure out this online stuff.

"Second: Practice doing interviews with a friend. There's a few programs in place in Seattle, they should help walk you through the process."

She nodded, remembering the State Trooper's advice. _Where were these stupid libraries, anyways_? Everyone talked about them but she hadn't seen one so far.

"Third: Lay back a little on the makeup. You're trying to accentuate your features, not paint new ones, and people can notice if you're obvious."

That caught her by surprise. Had her paint-and-chip detail messed up again? That was the second time! From now on, they focused on her hull. No more, no less!

_Hey!_

"Oh." Trinitite responded, hesitantly pointing towards her face. "Anywhere I can re-do this?"

"Not yet." Ineng replied, before standing. "Elizabeth, I'm also a refugee. I know what you must be feeling right now. Getting let down is hard, but I'm chewing you out to help you, alright? Get some practice, talk to the Office of Refugee Resettlement, and things will get better, okay?"

"Oh, okay." The Abyssal numbly replied. Office of Refugee Resettlement? She'd have to look into that once she reached a library, as well, although telling the United States where she was didn't seem particularly wise.

"Alright." Ineng stuck her hand out. This time Trinitite knew to grab it, but to her surprise the woman instead pulled the carrier to her feet. "Restroom's over there, alright? If you need any help, let me know."

"Aye aye." Trinitite responded, moving towards the hatch indicated. She wasn't entirely sure what a 'restroom' was, beyond this one bearing a label indicated it belonged to employees.

Still, that ranked very low on her problems. This interview might not have been a success, but it certainly gave her a lot to worry about.

Wait, this was just a head! Did humans have special words for everything?

* * *

**Whooh, this took a little bit of time, for two reasons: One, college stuff, and two, dialogue is always difficult for me. I hope the conversation near the end came off as naturally awkward, rather than just stilted writing, as it was done in a lot of short bursts.**

**Next one's gonna be another military interlude, while after that we're going to see some actual success on Trinitite's part. "And then she failed" is only interesting for so long, after all.**


	24. Interlude: Revelation

/File:

Anonymous (ID: a8g4eB68) 09/14/22(Wed)13:24:26

Hey all,

I'm not used to the chans, but I've heard you guys love a good mystery, and sense the Media and the national parks service are being silent I think I should post this anonymously.

I work at Kalaloch Lodge, a hotel just North of Queets along the cost. We run a few cabins on the beach, where people have lodging conveniently close to several bridges and the rest of Olympic National Park. Of course, we lost a lot of business after Pearl Fell, but as we haven't seen a West Coast repeat of La Palma business has been steadily picking back up.

Anyways, this Monday, something really _weird_ happened. In the afternoon, I heard a commotion, even though I was inside. Sounded like several thumps, as well as some kind of shrieking noise. Here's the video I took after rushing out: ( youtu. be/ EhqCC1tjSA6).

I think there's some kind of battle here, but I'm not sure. Any ideas, /k/?

* * *

Nashville leaned back, rereading the… webpage? Post? The cruiser wasn't entirely sure what to call the thing on Murray's laptop, but it couldn't be good. There was a lot more text after this, but judging by the formatting it had been written by other people. The Cruiser turned her attention away from the screen, focusing on the stoic spook standing behind her.

"Who wrote this?"

At the question, the Lieutenant solemnly shook his head.

"We don't know."

What? That didn't seem right.

"How don't you? This is a serious leak!" _Everything _was on the internet, right? What was the point of the Fleet Cyber Command if they couldn't track down some random civilian's webpage? "Can't we, like…" Her mind raced, grasping for an unfamiliar term "...triangulate where the page came from?"

"Computers don't work like that, Nash."

"Demand a list of everyone at the lodge, then!" Someone had _seen _their failure in the Battle off Kalaloch! This was a serious leak! A rouge abyssal was enough of a problem, but there was no way they could handle the information about her already bouncing around the internet.

"Not our job." The officer replied, reaching into his laptop bag and producing a file folder. "Hook that thing into the projector, will you?" He didn't wait for Nashville's response, instead dropping the folder onto the table. Its contents poured across its surface, a deluge of images, freeze frames, and written reports.

"We need to make something out of all this. If we can tell CINC-North where our Wo came from and what she wants, it's going to make finding her much easier."

"You'll be able to keep your commission, too." Nashville added, busy fumbling with a cable. How were these supposed to go together? There was only one cable sticking out of the conference table, so this must have been what Murray wanted to plug into his laptop, but where? "This cable hooks into the projector, right?"

No response.

The Cruiser looked up to find the Lieutenant still, his gaze focused on files in front of him.

"Shit, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Nashville," The analyst sighed, looking looking up from his documents. "That doesn't really matter. Not when there are so many lives at stake."

The cruiser pursed her lips, searching the man's face. He was technically correct, but the Cruiser had spent far too much time around sailors to know it wouldn't affect him. The shame for failing the Battle off Kalaloch still burned in her gut, and she couldn't imagine the human wouldn't be second-guessing himself as well. Still, if he didn't want to talk about it…

"Sorry," Nashville relented, returning her attention to the laptop. "That was out of line."

"Let's just focus on this, alright?" Murray replied, also returning to his duties.

By the time they spoke again, Nashville had figured out the projector, their laptop surrounded by an array of reports and images.

"So…" Nashville started, staring at the projection. "Is there a reason you asked me to project a random webpage?"

"The post doesn't have anything new, but I haven't seen the linked youtube video yet." He stood, bumping Nashville's shoulder as he clicked on the blue text. To the cruiser's surprise, the view suddenly changed, and she was suddenly watching a film of the gun battle. One of these days, she was going to have to sit down and figure out this tech stuff. "There could be useful information here."

On the wall of the conference room, a dark blotch sat on the horizon, the column of smoke trailing behind it barely visible against the overcast sky. Catching abyssals, or shipgirls like her, for that matter, on film was always a little tricky. According to a presentation she'd been forced to listen to during her recommissioning, a shipgirl in enough water to fit her hull existed in a dual state, simultaneously possessing the mass and profile of a humanoid and a steel hull. Shine a laser on her, illuminate her with RADAR, or point a camera at her, and you wouldn't know if you'd get the returns from a ship, a woman, or something completely incomprehensible.

Such a state felt natural to Nashville when she was on the water, but watching the dark blotch in the film flicker in and out like a dying lightbulb was bound to give her a headache.

"We're trying to figure out where she's from, right?" Nashville started, the echo of distant guns repeating in the room's speakers.

"Yeah." Murray replied, ignoring the video as someone near the camera started speaking. "I was hoping for a hull number or flag, but this camera isn't nearly as good."

"They have those?" Nashville replied, feeling a little better about being seen. No wonder the poster didn't know what she'd witnessed. This made the the spotty drone feed she'd used during the battle look like professional photography. Speaking of which…

"You know, didn't the drone feed show a big hole in her deck?"

"I think so." Murray paused, pausing the video and searching the table. "I think there's a good screenshot here, somewhere." In moments, he'd grabbed a frozen frame from the Drone footage, placing the image in front of the pair.

Even if the drone's feed had properly captured the enemy carrier, it wouldn't have been a good shot. Smoke curled away from her funnel, obscuring nearly half her hull. What was visible, however, wasn't particularly useful. The Abyssal's silhouette was further muddled, as a good portion of the ship's bow seemed to fade away. The ship also seemed to be surrounded by faint duplicates, partially-formed sensor ghosts Nashville didn't think anyone had explained yet.

"It's not terrible…" The spook mused, tracing the abyssal's hull with his pen. "We've got her flight deck here, with several AA positions visible below." The enemy ship was outlined now, a broad rectangle that trailed off in the smoke. "The island is here, while just to port…" His pen settled on the center of the carrier's hull. "This is what you noticed, right?"

"Yeah." Nashville nodded. "Looks like half her deck caved in." It was impossible to judge the extent of the damage because of the ship's smoke, but it what they could see of the Wo's dark deck was clearly warped, several broken and jutting planks visible even in the distorted image.

"That is some serious damage." Murray replied. "I'm not sure how it could happen, though. You're the ship, Nash. Can a deck just collapse like that?"

"Not on it's own." Nashville replied. "It has to be pretty reinforced if you want it to survive the stress of landing aircraft. Either we're looking at the first Abyssal invalid, or a patch job for a lot of damage gave out."

The cruiser let herself smile for the first time in days. At last, some good news. "She's going to need serious yard time before she's threatening any cities."

Murray nodded, but continued staring at the printout. Or, more accurately, _through_ it. Something was going on behind that distant stare, and once again Nashville wasn't privy to it.

For once, that didn't bother her. What was he seeing? The Cruiser's attention drifted back to the image. Abyssals were strange by their nature, but if this image had him thinking so hard there must have been something particularly strange. The damage didn't seem like it was quite as bad as it had been on the _Franklin_, but that wasn't saying much.

"She's supposed to have another elevator here, right?" She guessed, pointing port to the Abyssal's amidships. Was this what had him so distracted?

"One of our Essexes would, but whoever's building the Alpha-Sierras likes to play around with their design." He traced his finger along the port side of the carrier's flight deck. "See how the deck's still standing along here? The Wo's hull where the elevator should be is solid enough that she probably didn't, err, come with one."

"Why handicap yourself like that? That's going to seriously hurt her launch and recovery cycle, right?"

Murray dismissed the question with a shrug, before turning to his laptop. In a moment, he'd minimised the video they'd been ignoring, instead diving into the laptop's more obscure settings.

"I'm connecting to NMCI." The spook added, guessing the cruiser's still-forming question. "ONI maintains a database of known abyssals, using intelligence gathered from submarines. There aren't many Wo-Class carriers with a long-hulled Essex's form, is missing her port elevator, who also participated in a recent fleet action."

As the Spook opened… some kind of program? An ensign had walked Nashville through this process when she'd first returned, but she'd immediately forgotten all of it. "That drone footage might have given us all the information we needed."

It almost seemed like the analyst was excited.

"That can't be reliable." The cruiser replied, remembering the wartime intelligence reports on the Yamato. _16-inches? My aft._

"For anything smaller than a Ne? Yeah." The Lieutenant admitted, "But the number of Wo's we've seen in the Pacific is only int the double digits. Of those, there can't be more than twenty of them with an Essex's hull, and sense she's a flagship, she's had plenty of time for one of our subs to find her."

It wasn't pretty, as far as webpages went, but its basic colors and simplistic style seemed to work well enough for Murray. The room fell into silence as the spook poured over entries, filtering a list of hundreds of hostile ships down to two or three.

"There." The spook finished, clicking on one of the three.

_Wo-E6: "Caisson"_

Nashville studied the projection, intending to check some of the older photos with the printout they'd been studying, but instead her gaze focused on the Abyssal's status.

"That can't be right." The cruiser exclaimed. "She's dead!"

"We _thought_ she was" the Spook corrected, hovering his cursor over a date. "Sunk by an evolved sea sparrow during the battle of Bikini."

"That would explain her deck…" Nashville admitted. "...but didn't the Japs clear Bikini with surface ships?" She'd remembered her first battle after her return pretty well, after all. "You'd think it would be hard to miss an Aircraft Carrier."

The cruiser shouldn't have been surprised, though. How many times had they sworn Big E was on the bottom of the ocean?

"The ship, yes, but we _know _she'd be hard to spot if she crawled ashore."

Nashville grimaced. Yeah, that was understandable.

"Point taken." She didn't need a reminder she'd fucked up as well, but it seemed to be increasingly common. "So. She survives the battle. What's with the infiltration stuff? That's very different from…" Nashville scanned Wo-E6's service history. "...convoy escort."

"'_Looking for someone_,' huh?"

"What?" Nashville questioned, but Murray remained quiet. The abyssal had said that, hadn't she?

"Well." Lieutenant Murray replied, standing suddenly. "I think we figured out her motive."

"We did?" Nashville questioned. Sometimes she forgot why the Lieutenant annoyed her, but then he'd make her feel stupid again and it all made sense.

"Yeah." He nodded, "The abyssal was damaged, witnessed the Jellyfish princess turn back into Saratoga, and-"

"WHAT?"

Nashville felt like she'd been hit. The light cruiser remembered their battle with the Jellyfish princess well. The haunting transmissions they'd heard on their approach were nearly impossible to forget, especially as that creature's brand of nuclear nihilism was much better at getting under the cruiser's armor than Midway's impotent threats. To think that thing was the same as the sweet converted battlecruiser… Nashville had to have misheard him.

"She saw the Jellyfish Princess became Saratoga."

_Oh, damn it!_

The cruiser cradled her head in a hand, her mind racing as she leaned against the table.

"So we beat her up and she's suddenly on our side? Just like that?"

"Not… exactly, but I can give you the details later." Murray shrugged. "Isn't this an open secret among you shipgirls? We keep it quiet from the public, but there's no point in hiding it from you."

"If my sisters knew, they didn't tell me. I alway thought princesses were like- demons wearing ship's skins, or shadow clones, or-"

She stopped herself, a terrible thought dawning on her. Abyssals constantly talked about traumatic parts of their old lives. Two of the Brooklyns hadn't come back yet. Why wouldn't any of her sisters tell her about this?

"Brad."

"Hmm?" The intelligence officer's face hardened at the mention of his first name.

"Who owns the Falklands?"

Lieutenant Murray looked away from the Cruiser, sighing and sitting down. If Humans still held the island, it didn't disprove anything, but the alternative…

"Contact with the british garrison was lost a few days into the war." Murray started, pausing for a second to collect his thoughts. "It's been an Abyssal stronghold ever sense."

So that was it. The dream of getting all the Brooklyns together, of everyone in her class finally meeting for the first time, seemed to crumble like bread cast into a stormy sea.

"Now, there's no guarantee one of your sisters took the Falklands." Murray rationalized. "The Admiral Graf Spee hasn't returned yet, and there's plenty of Argentenian…" The officer's comforting words fell apart at Nashville's glare. There was no way he believed that.

_Phoenix..._

When the _HMS Conqueror_ sunk her sister, she was heartbroken, of course, but the news had come with a bittersweet lining. At times, war between Argentina and her own nation, Chile, seemed inevitable. She was gone, yes, but Nashville no longer had to worry about facing her sister in battle.

Now? That possibility had returned like an unexpected torpedo, and it felt even worse. In the 80s, Nashville and her sister worked for different totalitarian regimes, and if a war started it would have been for traditional politics. Not pleasant, but the kind of thing Nashville was built for.

Now? She might have to put her sister down like a rabid dog. Not because of some political issue, but because she'd simply gone mad.

"I think we've earned a break." Murray stood again, making his way towards the door. "How do you like your coffee?"

The cruiser forced herself to focus on the question. They had a job to do, anyways? She could worry about her sister later. Still…

"With whiskey."

The Lieutenant nodded grimly. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

**So, this chapter's a little more technical than normal, especially as I tried to describe some stuff I've talked about in threads but never mentioned in-story. I hope there was enough good moments you found it entertaining.**

**Note, CINC-North should be named CINC-USNORTHCOM, but I'm unsure if anyone actually calls him that and it didn't seem natural to say.**

**Reading over my description of the picture of Trinitite, I'm not sure if I'm channeling Clancy or Lovecraft while writing. That doesn't feel like a good combo, and I hope the result was fun enough to read.**

**I also can't remember what Lieutenant Murray's first name is. I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere, but I can't find it. Therefore, his first name's Brad now. If I actually did mention it earlier (I looked, couldn't find anything), let me know so I can fix the inconsistency.**

**There's also supposed to be a youtube link in the 4chan post that points to an error page, but might remove it. It's not supossed to work anyways, so if it doesn't show up I probably won't correct that.**


	25. Slump

Rain sounded different here. It hadn't picked up yet, content to remain at a steady drizzle, but the familiar patter she'd gotten used to over her two years of life was different. Uncanny. She'd first noticed it after landfall, but hadn't had an opportunity to dwell on it. Compared to the new sights and sounds, the immediate danger the military posed, and the sea of radio transmissions she'd discovered, the noise of slightly different rain didn't bear contemplating. Now, with nothing else to divert her attention other than her food and passing humans, it was becoming impossible _not_ to.

Trinitite knew why, of course. Raindrops against concrete, leaves, and grass produced a much different sound than against sand and sea. The real issue, however, came from what was conspicuously absent: No rain fell against her deck, rolling off her rigging and running in rivulets down her tentacles. By its absence, rainfall changed from a comforting familiarity to _something else_ she'd have to get used to. It hadn't bothered her until now, but after the failure at Luzon Blues she couldn't ignore it.

A job just wasn't going to happen, was it?

Sure, she learned a lot from her encounter with Ineng, such as a summary of the full job process: job applications, resumes, interviews, and many more technical things that flew over her deck completely. It felt pointlessly complicated, but maybe one of those library programs she kept hearing about would explain it better.

Makeup, too. It took five tries in the Luzon Blue's Head and several hours, but by the time she left the market, her disguise had Ineng's approval.

"_Well, you don't look like a mannequin anymore…_"

Given she'd started using makeup a few hours before, Trinitite took the human's comment as glowing praise. She still didn't know what half the stuff she grabbed from the Fred Meyers Fleet's stockpile actually was, but given a mirror she could at least make herself _look_ human.

Not that it didn't come with drawbacks, however. With how fragile it was, Trinitite would have to avoid water if she wanted to maintain her disguise, an irony that wasn't lost on the abyssal. Her current hat, thick and sporting a wide brim, kept the rain from ruining her disguise, but Trinitite would have to be careful to defend against splashes. This also meant camouflaging her hands was out of the picture. Any job she found would need a reason to wear gloves, and often.

To summarize her situation, not only did Trinitite need to find a job, but she would also have to ensure it wouldn't require taking her gloves off or work around a lot of running water. All of _this_ so she could secure her supplies and begin a _real_ search along a tiny fraction of the US coast.

The abyssal sighed, turning her attention back to her meal. She wasn't exactly sure what 'beef sausage' was, and what it had to do with summer, but it's convenient size (about that of one of her 40mm shells) and savory taste was growing on her. It was a little dry, but the 'frappuccino' recovered from her refrigerator offset that. The dark, sweet drink came as a surprise to the Wo, and she still wasn't sure what she thought about it.

The meal wasn't bad, but still _different_. Trinitite was sick of different. She always thought of herself as the calmest of the fleet's Wo sisters, but she felt her limit approaching. If she didn't get a job soon, she'd-

Tear one of those human vehicles apart? Raid another warehouse? Walk into the woods and scuttle herself? Trinitite wasn't sure.

Her meal half-finished, the Abyssal stood. Perhaps dwelling on this wasn't healthy. Trinitite could handle the stress caused by weeks of constant air raids, stalking submarines, and unexpected rocket bombardments. She knew she could stay calm under pressure, and as tiring as things seemed it hadn't gotten as bad as her last convoy to the Solomons. She wouldn't fall apart, not unless things got _much_ worse. Her experience, determination, and curiosity could hold her together.

The Wo-class began walking again, alternating between a bite of sausage and swig of the dark drink. She just had to find a library. That shouldn't be too difficult, right? Her current strategy, tracing a relatively straight line northeast from Redmond, didn't seem to be working, but there were other ways to look for buildings. A grid search would be tricky with just herself, but a library wasn't going to try and evade her, either.

At least, she _thought_ it wouldn't. Given her current luck, who knew?

Maybe, like with her own library, the libraries she was searching for were simply sections of the larger buildings. In that case, it was no wonder she hadn't found any yet. The Abyssal wasn't going to be forcing her way into any more random buildings, though. Not without much more experience. She was lucky with the Fred Meyers, but randomly entering more buildings in search for a library was risky, to put it lightly. She needed to gather more information, which might take a while.

Trinitite stopped again, taking the time to examine the buildings around her. Luzon Blues, and the shops around it, were half a mile behind her, several similar clusters of buildings lining the road between her and the market. Several also had their own help wanted signs posted, but Trinitite wasn't particularly interested: At this point, she didn't expect to learn much another failure.

The only unique building she'd passed was the one she'd had her meal in front of: A simple establishment labeled "US Postal Service." Sure, eating in front of a US-aligned building was a risk, but this fleet wasn't particularly threatening. She wasn't sure how they expected to safely deliver their supplies without armed escort, but it seemed to be working for them so far. Maybe the Navy, Army and Firebringers were good enough at keeping enemies out of the country they didn't feel the need.

It had become impossible to determine where she was, exactly. Would this city end in two more miles, or ten? The map she carried wasn't particularly helpful. According to the road map, the Abyssal was standing in an uninhabited wood, which was obviously not the case.

"Outdated charts…" The carrier muttered, suppressing a curse. Out of every problem that would follow Trinitite from the Abyssal Fleets, of course it would be this one.

Trees obscured any signs of human civilization beyond the nearby buildings. The only exception would be a steel tower that stood out from canopy, yellow paint highlighting it against the clouds. Trinitite had been watching it during her meal, her thoughts wandering as she watched it twist to and fro. It wasn't along her planned course northwest, but a detour wouldn't hurt anything.

The abyssal looked ahead, mentally mapping out the town around her. No guarantee, but these streets were probably arranged in the same manner she'd seen throughout the rest of human territory. This might not be a library, but some reconnaissance couldn't hurt, right?

* * *

To the Aircraft Carrier's surprise, the tower that had attracted her was familiar. Trinitite herself didn't have any external cranes, but plenty in the Crossroads fleet had them. This one wasn't designed for floatplanes, but its mechanics seemed almost identical. The crane, mounted on a vehicle, sat in a lot cluttered with other vehicles, supplies and people. The field, devoid of vegetation and protected by a bright fence, was dominated by four partially-formed structures. Each in its own stage of development.

Let's see, from here she could make out the steel rods that reinforce the structure, meaning those foundations, and perhaps the walls they were planning on adding, had to be concrete of some kind. Trinitite knew a few things about construction, although almost all of it was second-hand. Bikini Atoll had already been covered in usable structures when they had first arrived, but it wasn't a functional naval base. While she was out on expedition, the rest of the fleet was working to make sure Trinitite returned with somewhere to store her newly-found supplies. The results of their labor didn't compare well to the buildings the humans had left from before.

Come to think of it, why was their island empty to begin with? Plenty of other Abyssals she'd talked to mentioned fighting over their current homes, and almost every human settlement she'd seen displayed battle damage of one kind or another.

Did it have something to do with the Fire? But if it had scoured the Bikini Atoll completely, why did they bother setting up new buildings anyways? There were over a dozen structures on Bikini, something the Crossroads Fleet had done their best to maintain. That couldn't have been built quickly.

Another question for the library, she supposed.

More delicate facilities, such as the fuel tanks and magazines, needed outside help. There weren't many installations her Princess was willing to do the needed favors for, making the base Trinitite had razed one of the hardest-earned in the Pacific.

Was destroying all of that a little extreme?

Eh, probably not. It hurt a little, knowing her home wasn't gone until she'd personally burned it down, but without her Princess? Without the rest of her fleet? It was just another rock in the pacific. Once she'd found out exactly what her mother had become, she could think about where a new home would be.

The Wo took a step back, leaning against another building as she watched the humans work. A man guided the mobile crane, waving its operator through lifting a steel grate as wide as her deck. Clustered around the event, several other humans watched and worked, their bright helmets and vests dotting the rain-darkened landscape. Someone crouched next to an array of metal poles, thin and tightly packed together, the half-formed skeleton of a tower joining several others in the structure.

Dozens of other tasks were being performed in front of her, the humans darting to and fro like a disturbed school of fish. For half an hour, the Carrier watched, observing the workers as they continued her duties.

Come to think of it… some of this stuff didn't seem too hard. She could tighten a nut or dig a hole, and given time she was sure she could operate that crane. Compared to fighter direction, air traffic control, and anti-submarine doctrine, none of this could be too complicated, right?

_First: you don't seem fit for a service job. You didn't talk to a lot of people growing up, did you?_

Ineng's words returned, unbidden. To be honest, Trinitite still wasn't exactly sure what any job entailed, let alone what qualified it as a service job, but this seemed about as far as she could get from the human's market. She didn't have to act particularly human, memorizing the invisible protocols that dominated human trade and communication. Wear a big hat and quietly follow someone's orders? Trinitite had a _lot _of experience in that.

You know what? The library, wherever it was, could wait. Trinitite was going to try for a job one more time, except now?

_If you're reacting, you're losing._

A common phrase among the abyssal fleets, and one she heard a lot from ships who didn't have experience in submarine warfare. It didn't apply everywhere, but here?

She was going to have to be a little more proactive.

* * *

Here's another chapter! If it feels a little small, that's because this is the first part of a block over 4k words I initially wrote for this update. My current policy is, if I do write something over 4k for an update, I'll edit the first part, release it, and go on to release the second one once editing's done. I'll also have to do some fact checking as well as editing, so no guarantee the next chapter will come out tonight.


	26. Visitor

Dan Pratt was a practical man. When he got his first management job, the Manager invested the majority of his new salary into a college fund for his future kids. When his family outgrew his Boston apartment, Dan moved into an older suburb west of the city, where house prices were lower and they wouldn't have to spend as much on maintenance.

When a Tsunami warning interrupted his sleep at three in the morning, he quietly guided his kids into the house's attic. When explosions silhouetted the Boston skyline and brought attention to an occasional line of tracers, Dan ventured back downstairs and killed the house's power. After day had come, the abyssals had withdrawn, and the tidal wave had lost its steam, he packed whatever he could and put his relatively undamaged house up for sale. Boston needed rebuilding so business was booming, but if the abyssals came back…

The media, of course, tried to keep him from leaving. On the TV, geologists said another landslide Tsunami, like the one which had lead the Abyssal assault along the east coast, couldn't happen again. Pundits said the fragile web of alliances that held the Abyssals in the Atlantic had shattered, and another attack on that scale wouldn't happen any time soon. The Military swore that abyssals wouldn't be able to hit the east coast again, rambling about the activation of this air wing or the redeployment of that carrier.

He ignored all of them. Let the young rebuild Boston: Dan had a family to take care of.

The Tykes were just entering kindergarten. In Washington, where there was plenty of work and a lot more land, metal and water between him and those white-skinned bitches. Maybe Colorado would have been safer, but they weren't having a refugee crisis. There were a lot more jobs for those who built on the coasts, like this one.

Situated outside Redmond's city limits, the Union Hill Affordable Housing Project found itself in the center of new urban sprawl. When the buildings would be complete, someone standing atop the fifteen-story buildings would see themselves in patchwork of freshly-built buildings the ran east until the Snoqualmie River, contrasting sharply with the checkerboard of wealthy subdivisions to the immediate west. On the other side of the river, an array of hospital-white FEMA tents marked the buildings' future residents.

That is, if this ever got finished. With the persuasion of the State of Washington and several Governments-in-exile, the County had been forced into greenlighting the project. The Council was still bitter about it, and they were constantly trying to push him over-budget with unending code inspections and attempts to revise the blueprints. He was close to giving the inspectors a little extra to ensure they didn't waste so much of his time, but a part of him suspected that's exactly what the bureaucratic pricks wanted.

That wasn't the worst of his problems, either. Their clients wanted simple, fast housing, and a lot of it. The tent city on the other side of the river was developing into a traditional slum, but the natives who knew fire season around here said it would be a tinderbox. That somewhere with this much rain _had _a fire season was a surprise to him, but given how well evergreens burned, he guessed he could see it. That meant his clients had dictated a fairly strict deadline, rendering his budget a little optimistic, but making things work was why he made over 80k.

In order to meet this deadline, he had to hire more workers than he'd initially expected, specifically cheap ones. Of course, that came with its own set of problems.

_LOST TIME INCIDENT REPORT_

_14 Sep 2022_

_McCally Construction Group_

Thankfully, it hadn't been serious. Someone had lost control of their mallet while removing post-tension framework, accidentally hitting a coworker with the tool. The victim's arm was only bruised, but this was the latest in a string of small accidents he'd been dealing with ever since he started this job. Maybe it was all this damn rain, or perhaps he was pushing his crews too hard, but he honestly believed it was growing pains. A lot of refugees from the south pacific knew their way around a construction site, but they weren't the ones walking into his office for a Construction Labor job, and those that _did _needed to reteach themselves around the imperial system!

Wasn't _that _a headache and a half!

Beyond that, the war had given several of his employees a pre-existing injury. Many were illiterate. Half his labor force didn't speak English.

Still, when someone stumbles into his Site Office, poor, broke, and desperate, after narrowly escaping the same eldritch horrors that had hit his hometown, he was at least going to give them a chance.

A buzz interrupted the Manager's thoughts, and Dan's attention was abruptly drawn from his laptop. Speaking of which…

He checked his schedule to confirm his suspicions, before rising and approaching the door. He felt fairly certain it was another perspective employee, looking for work in exchange for some cash and a roof over their head, but he hadn't seen anyone from OSHA in a while.

The door opened, and Dan started his canned greeting before what he was seeing actually registered in his brain.

"Can I help you, uh… Miss?"

The first thing that greeted him was a bright cowboy hat. On someone else, he probably would have ignored it, but on the slender woman in front of him it looked comically out of place despite her height. Under that, an unruly white mop of hair framed a young face which Dan might have found pretty if he was younger. She was _soaked_, the constant rain permeating her clothes and her hat's brim still dripping with water. Her sky-blue shirt and soft orange scarf clung to her, contrasting with the girl's dry hair and face to give Daniel the impression of a cat who'd just suffered through a bath.

Sure, the weather was bad, but it hadn't been raining _this_ hard. Either his guest had detoured for a dip in the Snoqualmie River, or she'd been outside for _hours_.

"Hello!" The soaked girl abruptly smiled, a trickle of water pouring from her hat's brim as she spoke. "Are you in command here?"

Dan blinked.

That wasn't what he was expecting anyone to ask, but it did clear some things up. Judging by her age, this was some college student from a nearby, probably a military brat who hadn't done a minute of honest work in her life.

In short, a naive idiot.

"I… am, yes." The Manager replied, and took a step away from the door. "Why don't you come in?"

She didn't show it, but she _had_ to be miserable, soaked to the core like that. Even if the kid didn't mind, somehow, the threat of hypothermia wasn't to be taken lightly.

"Ah, thank you!" The girl replied, her boots squelching as she followed Dan inside.

"Pretty wet out there." Dan added as he closed the door, noting as his guest barely paused on the doormat. He needed to find some towels before all that water that was dripping of the newcomer created a tripping hazard.

"Yeah." She replied. "Is it always like this?"

"Not always," Dan answered, turning the office's space heater up a little. "But I'm told we can expect this for the rest of the year. Guess that's why they call this place a rainforest. Coffee?"

"Huh?" The girl was standing in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure of herself. "Okay?"

Dan sighed, surprised he'd ever have to ask this question.

"Ever had coffee before?" With most people, he'd consider that question a patronizing insult, but with this girl? He was getting the same impression he got from his own kids, just older.

If his own kids acted like this at this age, he'd be terrified.

"No."

Some times, he hated being right.

"You probably won't like it at first, but this stuff grows on you." Grabbing a styrofoam cup, he filled it using the office's constantly-heated carafe and handed it to the girl. "Besides, you look like you need warming up."

"I'm fine." She replied, accepting the coffee with her left hand and taking a cautious sip.

"You sure?" Unless she was hiding a personal heater under her shirt, there was no way she was enjoying that. "Let me dry your scarf, at least."

The kid finally relented, unwrapping her scarf to handing it over. He rung the cloth out over the office's sink, he threw the garment in front of the office's space heater. A bit of a fire hazard, but as long as he kept his eye on the situation shouldn't be a problem.

"Now." Dan added, having gained that small victory. "How can I help you?"

"Oh!" She almost jumped, as if she'd forgotten something vitally important. "I'm Elizabeth Groves." Jerkly, she rose a gloved hand, holding it out in front of her.

A moment passed. After placing the scarf in front of his space heater, Dan was over four feet from his visitor. Still, if she was going for a handshake…

"Dan Pratt." He replied, covering the distance between the two to take the girl's hand. "I'm the Manager here."

For the first time since meeting her, Dan was impressed. Her gloves, dark and smooth looking, felt remarkably coarse in the Manager's hand, gripping his skin like ultrafine sandpaper. Must be pretty expensive material, but he could see the utility. The handshake itself was just as timid as person giving it. The fancy glove had dried of already, but her lackluster handshake still gave Dan the impression of a dead fish.

"Alright, Dan." She started, unaware she'd completely failed the handshake. "I'd like a job."

What?

"Excuse me?"

Elizabeth paused, a confused expression visible from under her cowboy hat.

"I… would like a job."

She didn't have to repeat herself. Dan understood perfectly well what she was saying, but _why_? He could count the number of female construction laborers he'd worked with his fingers. Even then, they were usually built differently. The potential employee might make a good swimmer or gymnast, but her arms looked like they'd snap if she lifted too much.

"Are you sure?" He finally replied. "You look more suited for another job, like serving tables or-"

"_No!_"

Dan jumped, surprised at the girl's sudden energy. Where did that come from?

"I can't! I've been trying to get a job like that, but they say I'm not good enough with people!" Well, Dan guessed he could see that. She was pleading now, her eyes… what kind of color were they supposed to be, anyways?

"Just give me a chance, sir! I can work!"

"Hey, I never said I wouldn't let you try!" Dan needed to cut this girl off before she started pouring her heart out to him. The war had devalued sob stories, and he didn't need to hear another one.

He paused, looking over the girl's attire again. Her jeans seemed useful enough tougher than most he'd seen, but while her hiking boots were more utilitanian than he'd expect from the girl, they wouldn't stop . "Do you have steel-toed boots?"

"Uh- yeah." She nodded.

"Good." He didn't think he had a spare in her size. "You start tomorrow. See me in this office at 6:30. If I'm not here, tell whomever you see you're here for the new employee orientation. They should be able to start briefing you on how we do things. After that, we'll give you your gear and start putting you to work."

Her face suddenly lit up, like he'd just bought her ice cream. God, she really acted like his kids.

"Ever done this kind of stuff before?"

"No, not really." Her smile fell as she shook he head, but only for a moment. "But I've watched a lot of construction!"

_Let's see her keep that energy after an hour of bending rebar._

"That probably won't help," He replied. "But if you follow your senior's orders you should do fine. If it's too much, you can leave at any time and I'll pay you for the work you've done so far, but at eight PM, I can guarantee you one hundred and fifty dollars, cash. That sound good?"

She nodded. "It does."

"Alright." He replied, turning towards his laptop. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you!" Thankfully, she understood the informal dismissal. The woman tapped her cowboy hat in a loose salute, before turning and leaving for the door.

"Uh, your scarf-"

"Right!" She pivoted on one foot, snapping the scarf from the portable space heater and turning to leave again.

"You know, a waterproof coat would help a lot on the jobsite, too." He added as the woman curled the scarf around her shoulders. You'd think that someone who thought they needed a scarf would carry a windbreaker, at least.

"Aye Aye!" She called, shutting the door behind her as she left.

Dan fell into his chair, turning his attention back to the incident report. Weird girl.

Then again, not just any woman would ask for this kind of job, especially in a city with so many new businesses. He'd work her, like he did every other new employee, and if she came back the next day?

Well, there was plenty of uses for someone as light as she was.

* * *

...And the rest of the chapter is up, and faster than I expected! I haven't worked in construction (at least, not on a construction site), so thank you to MarekGutkowski for advice on this and the direction of the upcoming arc, but he didn't have a preview of this chapter so don't blame him for any mistakes I make.

Speaking of mistakes, feel free to correct me on any inaccuracies in depicting this. I try my best with research on the topic, but I've already gotten my research wrong once at the Battle of Kalaloch, so I have no problem going back and fixing serious mistakes.

That being said, the next chapter in the pipeline is going to be another interlude, this time much farther south than normal.


	27. Interlude: A Phone Call

It had been almost two weeks since Saratoga had… returned to her senses, and it was her sixth day in San Diego. Over that time, she'd been debriefed on her fragmented memory as an Abyssal, recommissioned with her familiar _USS_ prefix and an Ensign's billet, and been given a haisty briefing on a million different things, from the state of the war to basic training in acting human.

While that happened, Lexie and the other Essex sisters who'd helped rescue her from Bikini had left for their own assignments, returning to patrols, refiting, or training for the next offensive CDRUSPACOM was brewing up, leaving Saratoga alone in the rare periods she'd had free time. She'd run into Enterprise a day or so earlier, but the two hadn't done much more than exchange stiff nods before going their own way.

Was there still bad blood between them, or had the bitter rivalry between the two died with time? Was the famous carrier was too busy to stop for her former friend? There _was_ a war on. That was probably something she'd have to clear up, but whenever she started thinking about how to reintroduce herself to Enterprise, her mind would freeze up and before she knew it there was something else for the carrier to do.

For example…

* * *

"Sorry I wasn't there at Bikini." Lexington- the nameship Sara never thought she'd see again- had smiled, greeting her sister with an apology.

"Took a torpedo about a week before the fleet set out." Her thin smile was simultaneously new but achingly familiar "It's always those damn submarines-"

Lex wasn't able to finish, interrupted by her sister's tearful hug.

"It's fine." The carrier wept. "You're- You're here now."

"Woah!" Lexington replied, and Saratoga thought her sister would say something more, but instead the carrier heald the hug until they'd both gotten their emotions under control.

"I- I knew you were back, but I until I saw you-" A wave of giggles stopped Sara from finishing her thought, wrapped up in enjoying the feeling of her sister. The abyss- or perhaps the thing that dwelled there- had taken advantage of her grief over the Essexes, but the loss of her sister had cut much deeper. Seeing her again, just over eighty years after her sinking, simultaneously exposed years of grief and countered it with giddy relief.

"Nice to see you back, as well. When I returned, knowing that _it_ had gotten to you-" Sara stiffened, and her sister paused. "Well, I had to do something, right? I guess Carrier Group Six managed without me, but not being there makes me feel like a lousy older sister…"

"Hold on." Saratoga interrupted, releasing the hug and holding her sister in front of her. "_You're_ the older sister?"

"Yeah." Lexington replied, her smile returning. "I _am _the nameship, after all."

"Please," Saratoga shot back, "I was at sea long before you launched!"

The two lapsed into familiar banter, the sisters' lighthearted ribbing saying more than any heartfelt greetings. Her sister would help a lot in familizing herself with the world of the 2020s, putting several briefings in context and helping her get settled in as a shipgirl.

For a few days, at least.

* * *

The ship scanned her first PCS order. She paused, before rereading it and looking up from her lap.

"Maizuru, sir?"

She knew USFJ still operated some bases in japan, but none were fully staffed, and as far as she could recall, none in Maizuru. The commander of USPACOM nodded, his face straight.

"The JMSDF is facing a serious training problem at the moment. Several of their latewar carriers sunk without even basic training, meaning they're dangerously green. I'm told Katori has been training them to some standard, but she doesn't understand dogfighting tactics, aircraft direction, or the unique damage control procedures carriers need practice in. With how hard the Abyssals have been pushing north, they can't spare one of their own fleet carriers on the task, and they're afraid to ship them overseas in case a crisis pops up."

"That's where I come in?" Saratoga guessed, and the Admiral nodded.

"Exactly. Seems someone over there read your service history before offering to help free you. You'll be flying out with the rest of the JMSDF contingent saturday. Understood?"

To Saratoga, this sounded like a job for Wolverine or Sable, but the Japanese _had_ done the majority of the work at Bikini. For a brief moment, she considered asking about the whereabouts of the two training carriers, but discipline quickly reasserted itself. Perhaps they hadn't returned yet, or maybe Japan wanted a real veteran to train their carriers, but it wasn't a ship's job to question orders, especially ones with a political background.

She did owe them, she guessed.

"Yes, sir."

She would rather have sailed alongside her sister and daughters, defending them and sharing in their victories, but her current wing of F2Fs and SBU-1s would be worse than useless in a battle. She'd have to do _something_ to get her air wing out of biplanes. Work in Japan meant less contact with her sister, but that was what all of this new technology was for, right?

* * *

"What do you think?"

Saratoga paused, her sister following suit a half a second later.

"It's… Surreal."

When Lex had first explained shopping mall's concept to her, she had trouble wrapping her mind around it. Even now, the multi-story mall, with all of its restaurants, stores, and lights, was a little hard to take in. Conceptually, it wasn't particularly different from your average market, but _the scale_ was overwhelming.

It was friday, the two sisters spending their last day preparing Saratoga for her imminent deployment. Their shopping trip coincided with the rest of the Japanese fleet's, who apparently considered this one of the highlights of leave in San Diego. With the trade routes between the US and central america remaining relatively undisturbed, clothes came cheaper and in more sizes, something especially important for some of Japan's more… _endowed_ ships. This was especially important for the newly-returned carrier, as her first paycheck had only arrived that morning.

By now, the majority of Saratoga's first discretionary funds had already been spent, ensuring Saratoga's wardrobe consisted of more than her navy-issued uniforms and the dress she'd arrived with. There was still several hours before the shuttle would take them back to the Naval Base, and she was determined to get the most out of her remaining funds.

"You could say that about a lot of things these days." Lexington replied, her gaze focusing on an advertisement displayed on a massive television. "They say you eventually get used to everything, but there's a lot of stuff that still catches me off guard. Investigated the internet yet?"

Saratoga cringed, remembering her briefing on the subject. The C-something Warfare Engineer seemed to have known what he was talking about, but to the Carrier it felt like he was speaking another language. The history had made enough sense, a military project designed to help the US fight a nuclear war snowballing into something revolutionary and universal, but on the technical side of things Saratoga had gotten lost somewhere around 'address.'

"Not really, no."

Lexington smiled sympathetically. "Well, when you do? Expect _anything_."

"I don't think that's possible." Saratoga replied.

"_Try_." Lexington emphasized, her dark hair framing a mischievous smirk. "Wanna get some food?"

* * *

"Oi, Sara!"

The call echoed across the food court, silencing the multitude of conversations as it reverberated against the decorative ceiling. Saratoga jumped, almost dropping the large sandwich she was about to enjoy. Across the food court, Zuikaku waved, her twin tails bobbing as she broke into a jog. For a moment, Saratoga thought the carrier just wanted to see her, but judging by her expression and the phone in her hand, she wasn't there for their meal. Conversation quietly returned.

"What's wrong?" Saratoga queried. Her sister tensed as the Japanese carrier approached, but Saratoga ignored it. Wartime habits didn't die easily, after all. She probably didn't mean anything by it.

"Just got a call from Murray." The Japanese carrier replied, pointing to her phone. That everyone called the glowing metal tablets a phone still felt wrong, but they did seem to work. "He needed to know your number."

"What for?" Saratoga asked, but she already had her suspicions. That Abyssal hostage case had probably resolved itself by now, but a Spook like Murray would take a while pouring over such an odd event. What would he need her input for?

"Beats me." Zuikaku shrugged. "Heads up, though. You know how to use that thing?"

It took a few moments for Saratoga to fish her government-issue phone out of her purse, sliding the thing around in her hands. She knew it used some kind of radio technology to connect to landlines, but beyond that it might as well be magical.

"Not really, no." She admitted. "Lex can walk me through it, thou-."

_Buzzt._

The phone sprung to life in Saratoga's hands, and the carrier stiffened. She probably should have been expecting that. Now, how did this thing work?

Saratoga tapped the green phone button, but it continued buzzing.

"You have to hold and drag it." Her sister added. The Carrier tried again, this time dragging her finger across the glass. Success! The buzzing stopped as the screen changed. What now? Cautiously, she held the steel and glass to her face, taking caution to avoid bumping the red button with her cheek. How was this metal slab supposed to rest on her cheek? There was a reason real phones were curved! Feeling slightly ridiculous, the Carrier spoke.

"Hello?"

"_Hello,_" The Lieutenant's voice replied, although if Zuikaku hadn't warned her beforehand she wouldn't have recognized it. "_Is this Saratoga_?"

"Yeah." Across the table, the already worried Lexington leaned forwards, noticing as the Carrier subconsciously braced herself. An intelligence agent didn't interrupt your leave with a phone call to give you good news.

"_Good. Are you in a secure area?_"

"I'm in a restaurant." Saratoga replied, unsure if she was technically correct. There was a brief pause, before the spook spoke up again.

"_San Diego, correct? Could you step outside for a moment?_"

With an apologetic nod to her sister, Saratoga stood, making her way to an exit. Once past the Mall's first parking complex, the sounds of distant traffic from the nearby highway greeted the Carrier, and she took a final look around her.

"How did the hostage situation go?" She murmured, walking further towards the highway. It was possible that it was still ongoing, but the fishing vessel, if not interdicted, would have reached the Continental US by now. Something _must_ have changed in that time.

"_I'm not authorized to disclose that yet._" Murray replied, his tone apologetic despite it's formal manner. "_I probably will be within the week, though. You have need to know._"

The Carrier's walk faltered as she processed the statement.

"Me, specifically?" Saratoga could feel the pressure in her active boiler rising.

"_Ensign, you had three Carrier-class Abyssals serving under you while under Abyssal influence, correct?_"

Once again, disjointed fragments of memory flooded her consciousness, but almost as suddenly as they arrived they subsided. Saratoga already knew.

"Yes, but wasn't the Abyssal a cruiser?"

"_Bad intel_." Murray dismissed the question

"Ah." She couldn't argue about that. Mistaken sightings were more common than actual combat in wartime.

"_Did one of these carriers have a Longform Essex's hull, but no deck edge elevator?_"

"Trinitite."

The name came suddenly, leaving Saratoga's lips before she'd fully comprehended it. Until now, she hadn't even known her previous self's fleet even had names, but the knowledge came with the same certainty that came any other time she'd recalled a fact from her Abyssal life. The flood of memories returned, this time giving her disjointed images of one of her Wo-Class carriers.

Training, a fighter skidding off her deck and splashing in the misty waters of their Atoll.

Sailing into the bay, another Wo-class draped over her shoulders and supported by her rigging's tentacles.

Lying face-down in the bay, fire raging across her deck as the dying ship drifted.

"She's dead, though."

"_Apparently not._" Murray replied. "_Trinitite, was it? Like the crystal?_"

"Yeah." Saratoga replied. A lamp post was nearby, and the carrier needed something to lean on.

"_Thank you._" Murray said, after a brief pause. "_One more question, then I'll let you get back to your meal._"

Saratoga had plenty to think about already, but that could come after the call was over. With an effort, she pushed her flood of memories- the revelations her minions had _had a personality at all_\- down, bracing herself for another question.

"Go ahead."

"_If this 'Trinitite' was to run into you, and recognized you, what would she do?_"

What did that mean?

She had known, from the fact that parts of her fleet had acted independently, that they were rational actors, but the fact they apparently were distinct enough to get a _name_ was entirely new to her. Maybe it was a part of Jellyfish's family fantasy, using the three Wos as a replacement for the Essex sisters, but what if they'd earned a name?

"I- I have no idea."

Was running into Trinitite even a possibility? How could a carrier with nothing but convoy duty outwit the navy to make landfall? Was she actively looking for Saratoga? Did she know her former Princess was now a shipgirl? But Saratoga wasn't the Jellyfish Princess, was she? What if Trinitite took the same stance, and decided she wanted her old boss back?

_No! I'm not going back!_

"_That's fair_." Murray said, although the Carrier barely heard it. "_One more thing, then._"

That got her attention. With considerable effort, the carrier composed herself, only now noticing the family passing her. No matter what Trinitite wanted, the C5 she was scheduled to board in less than 24 hours would ensure she couldn't find her. There weren't any renegade Abyssals in Japan, that she knew of.

"Okay."

"_Saratoga, I've broken several regulations to ask you these questions. I don't know what assumptions you've made based on this interview, but I ask that you don't share them with anyone, alright? More information will be coming, through formal channels. Let them decide who needs to know about this._"

"Aye Aye, Lieutenant." She formally replied.

"_Alright. If any new information on Trinitite comes to light, feel free to call this number again. We can arrange other arrangements later._"

The technical question as to how to do that came to mind, but such minor things suddenly sounded insignificant.

"Understood."

"_Alright. Enjoy your meal, Saratoga. Sorry for the interruption._"

The connection terminated with a click. The aircraft carrier sighed, feeling her hands start to shake. She'd seen it before, on gunners who'd just run out of targets and pilots who'd barely made a rough landing, but this was the first time it had happened to her. Saratoga brought the phone down, pressing the button to turn off the screen before pausing to examine it.

Hopefully it still worked, with those finger-shaped dents in the frame.

* * *

**Don't issue shipgirls iPhones. Besides the fact the price is higher, they're built with an aluminum frame, and they'll need all the compression strength they can get when one of those dramatic calls come around!**

**Anyways, this took less editing than I thought it needed. The writing style here is a little different, partially because I wanted to cover a larger period of time, and it felt a bit odd once I was finished with the chapter. Going back through, it doesn't seem that bad, but other opinions and criticism is certainly welcome.**

**So yeah, the Saratoga interlude from earlier was not just a simple one-off. I'll be occasionally revisiting the story's confused Mombote, but since you guys aren't reading for her story it'll probably stick to an occasional interlude. Please let me know if Saratoga's assignment in Japan seems all that interesting to you, so I know a bit more about how much to revisit her. Right now, I'm not planning on much more than maybe one or two for every 20 chapters. **


	28. Surfin' with Wo

After all this time, all this failure, and all this effort, She'd finally done it!

Trinitite still couldn't believe it. By the end of tomorrow, the Abyssal would have human money in her hold, a full one hundred and fifty dollars! Trinitite wasn't entirely sure what that would mean in terms of bunker oil, avgas, munitions, rations and repair material, but it did mean the supplies in her stores weren't all she'd have to work with anymore. _That_ was a huge weight out of her hold.

She still didn't know much, but the job didn't seem half-bad either. Sure, her future 'manager' talked a little funny (_You start tomorrah. See me in this auffice at six-thirdee_), but he was still perfectly understandable, and if the potential for misunderstanding was his largest flaw Trinitite would be pretty lucky. Whether or not it was, with how fragile humans were, their commanders probably couldn't get away with as much abuse some Abyssal Princesses she'd worked under did. Add in the fact she wouldn't have to worry about enemy submarines lurking in the mud, and she was feeling pretty confident. As long as her disguise remained intact, she didn't have much to worry about.

More importantly, it meant she had several free hours to make some more tangible progress in her mission. If she hurried, she might be able to find one of those libraries everyone talked about. Alternatively, she could start her real mission, and begin her planning for reconnaissance on the northwestern Naval base.

Judging by her luck so far in finding a library, the former probably wasn't going to happen. However, while reconnaissance was the overall goal of her operations in human territory, it wasn't something she could afford to make a mistake on. She had to approach the city slowly, ensuring Trinitite had ample opportunity to spot enemy vessels before they could do the same, and leaving in a similar manner. Did she have enough time for that? How many enemy ships could she expect to be wandering outside of the base?

If her dead reckoning was correct (and despite her constant corrections with the roads she was following, it probably wasn't), she'd just entered within ten miles of what her stolen chart called Naval Station Everett. There were roughly three other Naval bases on her chart, but this one would be the easiest to access from her job site. She might have to get a new Job once she was confident her Mother hadn't been taken to Everett, but more job hunting was the last thing the abyssal wanted to think about. Considering more immediate issues, the carrier paused, halting her walk as she studied her map more closely. If Everett was an island or Atoll, Trinitite might be able to guess at what kind of air and sea patrols she could expect to deal with, but on land, with all of these trees and buildings? She wasn't sure.

Ten miles wasn't _quite _knife range for ships, but for an aircraft carrier she already felt uncomfortably close. The fact she didn't see any evidence of a nearby installation was unnerving. If she hadn't run into their perimeter yet, where could it be?

That was tonight's plan. Trinitite needed to know how close she could get to Everett, what kind of security measures she could be looking at in the air and on the ground, and how many enemy vessels she could expect in the town itself. There was a good chance she wouldn't get to see the bay around the base before having to withdraw to her job.

Thus, the map was significantly less important than her own rangefinders. She needed to keep her eyes focused on the people and buildings around her, with her crew at general quarters and her air crew acting as additional lookouts. With any luck, she'd be able to spot an enemy before they did the same, and avoid them without incident.

Right now, the road was surprisingly empty. There were plenty of cars, of course, traversing the four-lane road either alone or in disorganized groups, but so far humans had been rare at the concrete pathways to either side of the asphalt.

This was good, because for a while the path she was traveling had been perilously thin, with speeding vehicles to Trinitite's left and vegetation to her right. Not impassible, but the Abyssal had no idea what was on the other side of those bushes. Now, without a wall on one side and speeding metal on the other, there seemed to be many more escape routes, if she could reach one in time. She'd have to run several yards before breaking line of sight in case an airplane flew over or a destroyer jumped out of a passing vehicle, but she wasn't seeing any other humans darting bush-to-bush, so for now she wouldn't either.

However, even a ship's attention couldn't remain focused for ever. Slowly, inexorably, the Abyssal's rangefinders started drifting away from the people hundreds of yards ahead of her, and towards the buildings she was passing.

What were robins, and why would a building be dedicated to 31 of them and their basking?

There were a lot of vehicles parked in the compound labeled "Apartments," but Trinitite couldn't think of many reasons for it. Maybe these buildings were some kind of Barracks, or perhaps she was passing the town's HQ.

This building had a US flag in front of it, but beyond that Trinitite couldn't see any security measures. It probably wasn't military, then, but it had a larger vehicle pool than the post office. What would that be for? The Carrier's attention lapsed further as she focused on the unassuming sign marked on the front, its small white-on-green text difficult to read from a distance.

_Mill Creek Library._

_Library._

_… _

_Of course!_

Apparently, like enemy submarines, libraries only surfaced when you stopped looking. The Abyssal stopped, staring at the building and resisting the urge to rub her forehead.

She wasn't _surprised_, exactly, as she hadn't had any idea what a library would look like in the first place, but it certainly was frustrating. For something everyone kept talking about, this didn't look special at all! How many libraries had Trinitite missed since she entered Seattle?

No matter, though. Trinitite needed information, and scanning 30 or 40 books would be much safer than running blind into an installation or patrol. It was time to see what made these libraries so special.

* * *

As the abyssal cleared the second set of doors, a wave of warm air washed over her. An unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, smell greeted her. It was faintly reminiscent of the forest she'd crossed several days ago, but distinctly different. Distilled. After a split-second of inspection, she knew why.

"So many…" The abyssal whispered, stopping only a few steps from the entryway. Shelves dominated the majority of the building, arrays of books spanning from the floor to halfway to the ceiling. _Deep_, there must have been hundreds of them! It put her own library to shame!

Judging by the size of the building, she shouldn't have been surprised, but the carrier had a hard time believing there were so many things to write books _about_. There was no way she'd have time to review all of them!

"Hello… Oh my god!"

The Abyssal's attention was abruptly diverted by a human, not too far from her. She stared in shock, ignoring the thin display in front of her as she stood.

What? She hadn't been discovered, had she? The woman rounding the desk and walking towards her was certainly no ship, but something about Trinitite had to have distressed her? Her camouflage was still applied correctly, right? Still, the human advanced. Trinitite took a cautious step back, the question of how someone almost half as tall and thousands of times less powerful could still be intimidating failing to occur.

"_You're soaked!_" She hissed, lowering her voice. "_That's dangerous, you know!_"

"_What?_" Trinitite whispered back, genuinely surprised. How could getting a little wet be _dangerous_? Humans didn't _dissolve _in water, did they?

"You must be _freezing!_"

"That's bad?"

"Of course it is! Ever heard of hypothermia?"

She hadn't, but nodded anyways. The short woman seemed to buy her lie, her eyes darting around before she raised her hand.

"Okay, stay there." The stout human ordered. "We've got towels in the back room."

With that, the library's… commander(?) turned, leaving Trinitite to her own devices as she fled. The abyssal looked down at her clothes, removing her scarf and comparing it with the rest of her clothes. Her future commander (Flaghuman?), Pratt, had said something about temperature as well. Was that the real issue? Humans were strange, but even they had to enjoy getting wet every once in a while. If getting too cool was legitimately dangerous for humans, than she'd have to look more at warming up to avoid suspicion.

The scarf was still fairly dry, water discoloring the garment where it had rested on her shoulders. Almost sheepishly, she ran her hand down her shirt, squeezing out a stream of water which splashed against the rubber mat she was standing on. She hadn't been in the rain for _that _long, had she?

The human returned with a sheet of ragged cloth, motioning for Trinitite to follow as she walked deeper into the building. Trinitite followed, her lookouts surveying the building as they walked. They skirted the edge as the human headed towards the restroom, but she saw enough to notice a more than just books. In a corner of the structure, several humans were sitting in front of glowing displays, each showing radically different patterns and colors.

Why would a library need that much high-tech equipment? All of the Lilly's displays had a reason behind them, but an unmoving structure like this library would have no use for radar, sonar, or one of those GPS devices. Besides, several displays were unattended! They took up a lot of space, so they had to have some utility, but no matter how she thought about it she couldn't determine what it would be.

The question continued to dig at Trinitite as she got the worst of the water out of her clothes.

"We've got a heater in the corner." She added, wringing out the soaked towel in the sink and handing it back to Trinitite. "You should be good there, as long as you keep your clothes away from the paper. Let me know if you need anything, alright?"

The abyssal nodded, and the human left for her other duties. Good thing, too. A part of her was expecting the human to ask her to change clothes, and after the incident with Elizabeth? No thank you.

Belatedly, she realized it would have ruined her disguise, too. Where were her priorities again?

It took her twelve minutes of dabbing her clothes and wringing the towel out before Trinitite was confident her clothes weren't going to leave a trail of water behind her. It wasn't something she was used to worrying about, but if getting too much water on you was so unusual humans started worrying, she'd have to find a way to avoid it in the future.

_'You know, a waterproof coat would help a lot on the jobsite, too.'_

She'd grabbed several coats and jackets in the Fred Meyers raid, but they'd remained in storage up until now. For one, another layer of stiff and fragile clothes didn't seem particularly practical. Until now, she wasn't sure what their purpose was. Did humans use them for inefficient protection? Some extra pockets? Besides, sometimes she just liked getting wet, and a heavy coat like she'd seen on other humans meant no more of that!

Either way, they had reminded her too much of the few Re-classes she'd had the displeasure of knowing, so avoiding anything with a hood had come naturally. No, she wasn't 'half the ship' they were! Anyone with a sliver of sense would know trying to be a carrier _and_ a surface combatant meant half-afting both jobs, but those over-engineered torpedo magnets strutted around like everything else on the water was obsolete!

…Deep, Trinitite hadn't talked to one in over a month and they _still _managed to get a rise out of her. She needed to think about something else, lest she leave the building's head in a foul mood and attract everyone's attention. Plenty of the coats she had weren't _too_ similar to a Re's clothes, and if she closed her own up, she probably wouldn't look much like one. The limited range of movement was an inconvenience, but not an unmanageable one.

She was taking too much time here. Grabbing the towel and wringing it one last time, the Abyssal draped it over an arm and left. Returning that was important, right?

As she walked towards the front of the building, she took a moment to study the line of displays further. Four humans operated the line of terminals, a handful of other machines lying dark and abandoned between them. Each terminal displayed a completely different pattern, meaning they probably didn't have identical functions, but they certainly _looked _similar.

"Oh, thank you!"

Trinitite's attention snapped away from the row of woman from before had left her station, meeting Trinitite halfway between the head and the entrance.

"I'll take care of that." The human took Trinitite's towel, the Abyssal thanking her as she turned for a backroom. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." She replied, unsure if the human had heard her. It wouldn't matter either way, as the Abyssal certainly wasn't taking her up on her offer. Trinitite knew the value of asking important questions from her time training herself, her air wing and crew, but if another abyssal sailed up to her and asked what a radio was, she'd get a little suspicious. Trinitite needed to rely on the information gleaned from Elizabeth and inconspicuous observation, until she knew the right questions to ask.

For example, how do you operate those glowing machines? Trinitite feigned interest in a nearby shelf, grabbing a book at random and approaching chair near the heater the human had mentioned. As she walked, Trinitite feigned interest her pick.

A neverending story, huh? How was _that_ possible? It wasn't particularly large for a book. Perhaps pages were added as time went on to depict current events? While it's pages were hidden behind some protective material. A pretty smart idea, actually. If water was so damaging to human books a shell would only be practical. Curious, the abyssal turned it over, analyzing the label on the back.

A shimmering _fantasy _world?

She'd heard all of those words, but never together. Importantly, the word fantasy, which she'd remembered from many a princess's rant. The Harbour Princess's Celon plan was nothing but a fantasy. If the Southern War Princess thought the Supply Depot Princess could spare eight thousand tons of bunker oil, she must be living in a fantasy. Even her mother had used the term, dismissing one of Midway's proposed battle plans as such.

In every instance, fantasy had meant roughly the same thing: Foolish, unrealistic, and implausible. Did that mean this was all fake?

Wasn't _that _a disappointment. If it didn't have to be accurate to a real event, Trinitite could easily imagine a machine which could churn out gibberish non-stop. What kind of book was this, anyways? With a click, Trinitite opened the book cover, taking a look at the first… page?

_What was this_? She guessed a hollow disk didn't _technically _have an end, but this disk-circle-book-thing was completely unreadable!

She was getting distracted. The mystery behind the neverending story was baffling, but not particularly important. Trinitite stayed where she was, studying the pseudo-book like she'd seen other library humans do. From her chair, the Abyssal had a good look at one of the humans working at the display. Her optics couldn't focus on the words on the display, but Trinitite could get a good look at what he was doing.

It seemed to be split into two primary sections, each displaying text. The human would use a device with one hand to switch between the two sections, moving them up and down with the same instrument. He'd then switch to using both hands on the other instrument, adding text to one of the sections on the display. Some kind of writing and reading tool, then?

What was he reading, then? With an audible _click_ from the first instrument, the text he was reading disappeared, replaced by a third wall of information. Just how much could you fit in one of those? Overcome by curiosity, Trinitite closed her disk-book and stood. She was going to have to figure one of these out eventually, and watching could only accomplish so much.

Choosing an unused position, sitting at the end of line of displays and distant from any watching humans, Trinitite took a seat. The dark screen lit up as she brushed an instrument with her hand. Instead of anything she'd seen before, the Abyssal was met with a photograph of a lake, surrounded by a multicolored wood and craggy hills. In the center, a simplistic human silhouette was displayed, hovering over a single word.

_Public_

The words '_Sign in_' were also displayed, set in a box underneath the title. Okay, what did that mean?

Mimicking the other humans, Trinitite loosely gripped the smaller of the two instruments. With a slow shake, Trinitite spotted a marker move on the display. Experimentally, she moved it in a slow circle, noticing the box light up as the marker crossed it. The marker swung around again, hovering over the box before she experimentally pressed the left button.

_Click_.

The landscape abruptly slid upwards, revealing an entirely new display. The abyssal recoiled, leaning away from the abrupt change. She'd known humans had impressive technology, but she hadn't prepared for something that responsive. It also shed some light on how this worked: This device acted as a kind of multi-instrument, with the marker Trinitite controlled her method of interacting with it, treating the display as a set of buttons to 'press.'

Testing her theory, Trinitite moved the marker over a colorful icon labeled 'Recycle', watching a square appear around it as she hovered. How this machine could recycle anything was beyond Trinitite, so she didn't dare press it, instead moving down the line of colorful images. Chrome? Office? She wasn't going to experiment with those until she had more of an idea of what they did.

Instead, Trinitite's attention drifted to the bottom left of the display, hovering on a white box labeled '_Type here to search_.' Search? Technically, that was why she was here. The Abyssal slid the marker down to the white box, before pressing the left button again. This time, the screen didn't change entirely, instead generating a box which covered just over a fourth of the screen.

_Hi! How can I help you?_

That was… an oddly familiar thing to say, for a machine. Not particularly helpful, either. Carefully, Trinitite turned her attention to the array of buttons on the larger instrument. The letters were a fairly solid giveaway to what they did, but after looking at how they were arranged, Trinitite suddenly wasn't so sure. The numbers near the top were obvious, but why have a second set of F-numbers? If you wanted to tell the machine F2 couldn't you just press the F button, followed by the 2 button? Speaking of which, why was the F button in the center of the device? Wouldn't it come after the E button, near the top? Why was Q first?

Trinitite shook her head, pushing past the point. There must have been _some _logic behind this baffling arrangement, she just hadn't grasped yet. Apparently it made since to her communications officer, so it must have been common for _some _reason. So, where was the J button? There, also near the center. Tapping the button with her index finger, the Carrier began her search for O. There, not too far from J. After finding the B button and pressing that as well, Trinitite returned her attention to the screen.

_job_

_job_**_s_**

_job_**_ Search_**

_job_**_s near me_**

_job_**_s Mill Creek_**

_job_**_s Seattle_**

That was more than she expected. From watching the human, she knew there was some knowledge stored in these things, and she'd already been pointed to these libraries with help with jobs, but she didn't expect to see eight different items on the topic of jobs. Sure, finding someone to work for was important to humans, but important enough to fit eight different articles on the topic into one of these machines? Just how much _was_ there on these things?

Could it have information on her mother?

Trinitite admitted it was a stretch, but she had to try. A. The military probably didn't make their capabilities public so just anyone could go and figure out what they had. I. Even if they were so trusting, why send sailors down here and update the machines in the library? R. There was no way they'd gotten around to doing that so far, right? C.

Trinitite glanced back up at the display before moving onto the next letter, before pausing.

_airc_**_raft_**

_airc_**_raft carrier_**

Huh. She wasn't going to be so direct, just in case this machine logged what she did, but if they were going to suggest it, than it would be suspicious if she _didn't _investigate, right?

The display changed once she'd pressed on the term, displaying _another_ list which filled the screen. Mimicking the human from earlier, Trinitite took the wheel in the smaller instrument and spun, moving the list and showing _even more_ entries.

How was that possible? The abyssal wheeled her chair back, looking under the table. There, suspended in a metal rack and connected to a bundle of wires, a box smaller than a light bomb was hanging from the table.

_No way_ they could fit this much information into that thing.

The library had many answers, but Trinitite found her questions increasing much faster than they were being answered.

At the top of the list, the label 'News about aircraft carriers' topped four photographs, each with their own label.

_Work on the new USS Enterprise Resumes as Repairs to Newport News Continue._

_VIDEO: Illustrious just threw a truck. Just how strong are Shipgirls, anyways? _

_JS Izumo is Back in Action- but are Japan's F-35 Carriers Worth it?_

_Akagi, Enterprise, Arc Royale: Which Is The Best Carrier?_

They'd come with dates as well, and Trinitite was surprised to see none of were older than her landfall! If the Southern War Princess knew information on the Enemy's movements was this easy to get, she'd blow a boiler! How many devices like this one sat rusting and unused in Abyssal-occupied territory? How did humans update these so quickly? Did all of this information get radioed to this machine? How do you radio an image?

She would have lingered more on those questions and items, if the next thing hadn't been exactly what she was looking for.

_List of aircraft carriers in the United States Navy_

Perfect.

With another button press, the display reset, and Trinitite was looking at a wall of information to go over. It started basic, with the definition of an Aircraft Carrier, but soon dove into history, and got interesting quickly.

"Langley…"

Even in the quiet library, Trinitite's whisper was audible only to herself. Was that the name the Navy had given her mother? It would be nice if it came with an image, or maybe a better list, but she'd have to figure it out somehow.

_Click_.

The screen reset, and the american flag in the corner was replaced with that of a carrier. Disappointment flowed through the abyssal's decks as she leaned back in her chair. She was certain she could recognize her mother in an image, but anyone in the pacific could tell when a carrier didn't have an island. How did she go back?

There was blue text labeled United States Navy, like in the initial list. Maybe from there she could find her way back to that list? Hold on- The navy was one of _Eight _uniformed forces? She knew of the Army and Navy, and she couldn't forget the Firebringers from Mom's stories. What were the other five? She moved the marker that text, this time trying the other button on her instrument. '_Open link in new tab_?' Sure?

When The screen reset again, Trinitite noticed the words 'United States Navy' in the corner of the display. Ah, this must be one of the 'tabs' the prompt had mentioned. She could read through the Uniformed Services text, then go back to the Navy and search from there.

Finally, it was time for some answers.

* * *

"Uh… excuse me?"

Trinitite blinked, her world suddenly expanding past the display in front of her. With how focused she was on these Wikipedia Articles, she'd failed to notice the approach of the human from before. After drawing the abyssal's attention, the human spoke up again.

"Sorry for the interruption, but we're closing in 15 minutes. Do you need a ride home?"

"I'll be fine." Trinitite assured her. "Thanks."

"Okay." She replied. "Have a nice night!"

The human turned and left, leaving trinitite with the machine and hardly any time. How long had she been sitting here? Her attention turned back to the display.

_Atlanta __was a casemate ironclad that served in the Confederate and Union Navies during the American Civil War. She was converted from…_

How'd she get here again? Trinitite glanced to the top of the display. So many tabs were crammed together she couldn't read more than the first few few letters from each one, an array of articles extending an unknowable distance beyond the edge of the window. Of almost all of them, she'd hardly read a paragraph, before falling into another blue link. She'd learned a lot, of course, like the fact the Enemy had gone to war with themselves in the past, but nothing too useful, and even then the details and vocabulary were already fuzzy. This machine was… dangerous. Her chronometer showed over two hours had passed, and she'd done little more than get lost in a whirlpool text!

Okay, she needed to wrap up soon. One more article, then, and no links this time! Earlier, she'd noticed a box labeled _'Search Wikipedia,'_ and now it seemed perfect to find one last Article.

Let's see… A is at the end, there, while B is practically in the center. Y was above that, with S back next to A. A second S, followed by another A…

* * *

_Apologies for the time it took to get this chapter out. Beyond regular writers block, I blame school programming projects, finals, work, and Ace Combat 7(seriously, I just got this game and I'm already on my third campaign run! Who knew final fantasy jets could be so addicting.). _

_This chapter breaks my 4k word limit rule, but only barely, and I couldn't find a good place to break it up. Guess that's an advantage of working under your own rules. _

_I still cut a lot, though. For example, I was going to have some adventures of Trinitite after she left the library, but I can save those for future Everett Expeditions after Trinitite's grown more established. We'll have one more Interlude (No one has asked 'What's the Canadian military's opinion on this,' but I feel like answering this question, so it'll happen.) and then I'll get started on Trinitite's first day at work. At this point, some of you might suggest I'm delaying, but I'm just moving at a natural pace, honest! Maybe because the only two serious fiction attempts I'd made before this took place over very short time periods, but I just don't want to rush things, you know?_

_Speaking of cutting things, I had a much longer Rant/tangent about coast and the Re-class planned for Trinitite, but I cut it down because it was starting to read more like an author filibusterer than a resentful co-worker. I know that Re-classes and Wo-classes generally get along in fan media, but it's fairly easy to see the easygoing nature of Res rubbing the more calm and collected Wos the wrong way. Yes, Trinitite will use practical arguments for why aviation battleships are a bad idea, but this is Kantai Collection, so completely dismissing things because they're not practical for a human-or-ship-sized-magical-spirit-thing feels... mean spirited. Sure, BBVs are a bad idea, but nothing some more displacement couldn't fix, right? _

_Anyways, I gotta go back and edit some of the earlier chapters. Merry Smissmas, everyone!_


	29. Interlude: New Orders

Cruising just below the cloud ceiling, the helicopter flew southward. The CH-148 Cyclone, part of Canada's desperate rearmament, was practically brand new, part of a 40-unit order Sikorsky was still working to fulfill.

_Not that it feels new_, Rear-Admiral John Pierce mused. Perhaps the recent news about the accident in Alaska was getting to him, or maybe the weather wasn't quite as calm as it looked, but Pierce couldn't shake the feeling that the helicopter was trying to rattle itself apart.

In an effort to keep his thoughts off the ride, the Rear-Admiral kept his focus on the terrain below. The window wasn't any narrower than what he'd seen on any airline, and the craft's route afforded an amazing view, when it wasn't obscured by the low-hanging clouds. During the 30 minutes he'd spent in the air, Pierce enjoyed a scenic view of Puget Sound and its inhabitants.

A ferry traveling north, the protected bay allowing civilian traffic to continue as it did before the war. A hazy silhouette Pierce couldn't quite focus on, its seemingly otherworldly nature and large wake betraying it as a shipgirl's hull form. The stout deck of _JS Hyūga_, moored near the decommissioned _USS Kitty Hawk_ as workers prepared both ships for combat.

The Admiral's thoughts settled on the pair of large vessels, their distinct forms distinguishing them from the other ships stationed at Bremerton.

Not for the first time since he'd boarded the helicopter, the Admiral wondered why the Americans had requested his presence further south, instead of the Naval Station there.

Okay, they hadn't requested Pierce by _name_, but Admiral Hadia had only been visiting by luck, and had made it clear she wasn't flying anywhere.

That was another issue, and perhaps another reason this flight wasn't sitting well with him. There weren't many reasons Admiral MacKey, CMDR NORAD, would interrupt the schedules of every flag officer in the northwest to fly to an emergency briefing, when a skype call would be faster and much less disruptive to NORAD's operations. Most obviously were operational security concerns, but while a personal meeting in an unusual location would be more secure than an electronic briefing, the Abyssals weren't exactly known for their cyberwarfare abilities.

Some sort of domestic threat, then? Admiral Pierce tried to guess at a scenario that would have the Americans reacting like this, but any scenario he came up with sounded like the premise of a Tom Clancy-branded paperback. The existence of an army of supernatural and genocidal beings may have put serious dent in state-sponsored terrorism, but the number of desperate people in bad situations certianly hadn't gone down, and plenty of nuts were willing to ignore the greater threat to go after someone they actually could hurt.

Still, to compromise NORAD's communications required much more resources than the lone wolf had, and as far as he knew no NGO with a chance at doing so would have a reason to.

Not to mention how localized this all was…

The Admiral groaned, forcing himself to pay attention to the Carriers in the bay. He'd been a little too young for his position even before the world went to hell, but now the late _HCMS_ _Fredericton's_ XO had been promoted far beyond his talents, in his private opinion.

Still, the Navy hadn't exactly been a priority before the war, and even with the arrival of shipgirls and Russian assistance in the Arctic, it had suffered heavily so far. When command of Maratime Forces Pacific had been given to him, losses and reassignments east had stripped it from five frigates, six coastal defense vessels, and three submarines, to only one FFH, two MMs, and a measly two submarines.

Hell, production hadn't even _started _on the new class of DDGs they desperately needed.

In other words, it didn't really matter if he _was_ the right man for the job, because there weren't many left. Maybe the higher-ups thought a young rising star could adapt better, or perhaps the older officers in the fleet were needed out at sea, but for some reason he'd been given Admiral Hadia and the PM's faith, and he'd have to give his best to see it wasn't misplaced.

After all, Canada couldn't afford another St Laurence Disaster.

* * *

No sooner had the Cyclone touched tarmac than the AES Operator slid the door open, allowing John to hop out. An American Airman was waiting for him, snapping a salute as the Rear-Admiral's boots hit the ground. He returned it, and The Airman spoke.

"Rear-Admiral Pierce?"

Her shout was barely audible over the whine of the helicopter's engines. At the Rear-Admiral's nod, she spun on one foot, leaving the other enlisted to tend to the newly-arrived helicopter.

"Follow me, sir."

The Rear Admiral complied, matching the woman's pace as nearby jet engines increased in volume. Soon, the stout form of an A-10 separated from the runway, it's engine noise again fading as stubby fighter shrunk into the sky. Odd, weren't the Americans holding those in reserve?.

"The Commander says he's starting the briefing as soon as you arrive." She said, referring to the Admiral MacKey. "We've got coffee ready, if you need it."

"All of this is very short notice." Admiral Pierce noted, giving a nod as wordless thanks. "Any idea what has him spooked?"

"No specifics, sir." She replied. "A bunch of squids transferred in a few days ago. After that, the 7th Infantry deployed on an unscheduled training exercise and the six Hogs the Idaho Guard stationed here started flying themselves apart." Pierce hadn't been a flag officer for long, but still the twinge of nostalgia for his days as a sub-lieutenant, when he could learn more from enlisted scuttlebutt than his superiors. "They say it's a training exercise, but with you here…"

"I see." Admiral Pierce replied, trying to fit the information together. Rumors from a random airman couldn't be trusted, but there was some good hints there. If the US Navy _was_ involved, this might be more relevant to his command than he was suspecting.

One way or another, John guessed, he'd find out in a few minutes.

* * *

As John entered the briefing room an NCO had indicated, coffee-filled cup in hand, he found few surprises. A handful of admirals and generals filled the seats, quietly discussing shop with each other as they waited for the Canadian. He recognised them all, of course, excluding a naval officer at the front of the room, crouched over a tablet. A quick inspection of his shoulder denoted the rank of Lieutenant.

One of the 'squids' transferred to General Hudson's command, then.

At the sound of John's entrance, all but the Lieutenant turned, bringing their attention to the Rear-Admiral.

"Good, you're here."

Pierce's gaze fell on his superior, a stout man a fourth his height.

Admiral MacKey was one of the old guard, a former pilot who'd started his career in the cockpit of an F-8 Crusader and made a name for himself from the CIC of the _USS John C. Stennis_. That carrier was currently trapped in the Mediterranian, but the fact she could still limp into Naples after blood week spoke volumes of the Admiral's ability. After the Abyssal's disastrous La Palma campaign, and the wave of forced resignations that had come afterwards, he'd been a natural for the position of USNORTHCOM's, and by extension NORAD's, commander.

"Take a seat, Rear Admiral. Lieutenant?"

"Sir."

After Pierce found the closest seat, he looked up to see the American Lieutenant making his way towards him. The officer, only a few years younger than he was, approached him with a sheaf of paper.

"For you, sir."

Accepting the offered packet, Pierce stole a glance at the man's name tag.

_MURRAY_

That felt familiar, but Pierce couldn't match the name with anything work-related. Looking up, the Rear-Admiral tried to get a read on the man's expression. Either the Lieutenant had a serious poker face, or the O-3 wasn't afraid of delivering bad news.

"Thank you."

Admiral MacKey wouldn't have ordered a personal meeting if there was good news. To get a hint at what kind of news that would be, Pierce directed his attention to the papers he'd been provided.

_Wo-E6: "Caisson"_

That… didn't help. Sure, an enemy aircraft carrier was nothing to be taken lightly, but against the firepower around Puget Sound? Flipping through the collection of images and captions, he couldn't tell any obvious differences between the provided pages and a regular intelligence file.

Looking up, Pierce took another look at the brass Admiral MacKey had called in. There was Rear-Admiral Martin Chandler, commander of the US Coast Guard District 13, Admiral Abel Chen, of Naval Base Kitsap, Lieutenant-Colonel Samantha Yates, of the Yakima Training Center-

_Yakima?_

The Canadian was suddenly aware of a pressure settling between his shoulders, a feeling of unease which sharply contrasted with the stoic expression of the presenter.

"Good afternoon."

Lieutenant stood at the front of the briefing room, a projector displaying a white background with a title, flanked by the multicolored seals of the Office of Naval Intelligence and Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center.

_Wo-E6: Capabilities, history, and motivation._

"I'm Lieutenant Brad Murray, Office of Naval Intelligence." The man introduced himself with a flat diction that portrayed little emotion, relating information with the sort of passion one would use when discussing economics or weather. "To summarize this briefing, there is a Wo-Class aircraft carrier loose in the Washington area."

"_What?_"

Rear-Admiral Chandler's exclamation was a whisper, but considering the bombshell the Lieutenant just dropped, it seemed surprisingly subdued. If he didn't feel like he'd just been slapped in the face, he probably would have been worried about that, but now?

"_Jesus…_" Pierce mumbled, thinking of the implications. Human forces in the Pacific had just seized the initiative with the attack on Bikini, but if the enemy Carrier so much as showed herself in front of the camera, any victories made in the last several months would be forgotten.

He'd be lucky if that was all she did, as well. A single carrier didn't have the strength to enact a disaster like what unfolded at Halifax during the La Palma campaign, but there were plenty of undefended small towns in Washington and British Columbia.

The clicker in the Lieutenant's hand twitched, and the slide changed.

"This is Wo Echo-six. We've been referring to her as '_Cassion'_, but new intelligence pegs her name as Trinitite. I've distributed the file we have on her, with some annotations I've added given recent events."

A pair of images dominated the slide, each showing an aircraft carrier from a different angle. The first, taken from a low source that barely cleared the waves around it, displayed the ship filling the frame. Her dark hull carved through the waves, her hull fading in and out as the camera struggled to catch the abyssal. Judging by the angle, the image was from a submarine, probably a still from a quick scan she had done at periscope depth.

The second photo was black-and-white film, taken from the opposite angle. At the center of a fleet of abyssal ships, three carriers cruised in formation. The image must have been taken from a shipgirl aircraft, Pierce guessed, as the three ships didn't have the confused dual nature traditional cameras struggled to display. A layman would have trouble separating this picture from several taken during the second world war.

"Due to her behavior up until this point and some notable quirks in her design," The Lieutenant continued, "we've been able to piece together a fairly good picture of her service history."

The Lieutenant turned, highlighting one of the three Aircraft Carriers with a laser pointer. "She can be identified as bearing a similar form to long-hulled Essex Class carrier, without her starboard side edge elevator. As far as we can tell, she has been a part of the Jellyfish Princess's fleet since her arrival at Bikini, defending the Atoll and performing escort duties for her allies. She's one of three Wo-Class carriers which have been observed on regular convoy duty."

Pierce straightened in his seat. He hadn't been too involved in Operation Vision Dawn, but one of the reasons the UN had been so keen on eliminating the Jellyfish Princess was the carriers she kept sending to guard abyssal convoys. That one of them had survived…

This news must have been quite frustrating to some officers in this room.

"When we first noticed two or three fleet carriers guarding a convoy, we assumed they were guarding vital cargo. Patterns in their routes, however, seemed to imply political motives behind their assignment, instead of using the three Wo-class carriers for strategic benefit. Interviews with Saratoga after her rescue confirm this, with the Supply Depot Princess using the Jellyfish Princess's fleet in exchange for favors, instead of reinforcing strategically important fronts.

"Nevertheless, several attacks have been made on their convoys, with mixed success." Lieutenant Murray changed slides again, a new set of images dominating the wall.

"We've sunk several of their transports, but not without cost." The laser appeared again, tracing a line of bullet holes along the fuselage of an Australian F-18. Judging by the distance between the bullet holes, the fighter must have been piling on the afterburners for a bombing run on the abyssal convoy, but managed to get winged by the much slower abyssal fighters anyway.

Despite himself, the Admiral was impressed. Most modern aircraft took damage on their way through abyssal AA screens, when they couldn't spare the missiles to attack from a distance. For a hellcat to successfully intercept a hornet?

It _had _happened, but was exceptionally rare for obvious reasons.

"We've lost several aircraft while attempting to harass the convoy, while missile attacks have proven less cost-effective than normal. Several submarines we've resummoned credit these ships with their sinking, and while _USS Montana_ claims a solid hit against one of the three ships, she took severe damage attempting to make another approach."

Below the image of the damaged aircraft, the full hull of a virginia-class submarine sat, her battered hull cradled in drydock. Her sound-proof coating was marred by several dark cracks, the thick skin unable to bend with the damaged steel it covered. It looked like some angry god had taken a gigantic ball-peen hammer to several parts of the attack sub, and explosive forces had forced open a jagged hole in the sail.

It looked like it was a miracle the sub had returned at all.

"Task Force Shlau also attempted an attack while the convoy was isolated, but lost a good portion of their air power in the attempt. It was hoped that Graff Zeppelin's experienced air wing could overcome her numerical disadvantage, but it seems Trinititie and her two late sisters had significant air-to-air training from the Jellyfish Princess."

The slide changed again, and another black-and-white aerial image dominated the presentation. Several plumes of smoke rose from a fogbank, flames illuminating what he assumed to be the abyssal weather around Bikini.

"Fortunately, this experience doesn't seem to have translated as well to the Alpha-Sierra's reconnaissance and strike capabilities, as during the battle at Bikini, strikes on the Japanese fleet were sporadic and uncoordinated, and Saratoga reports the US contingent wasn't noticed until the first missile volley hit. We thought she was sunk with the rest of the Crossroads Fleet, but her current presence in the Pacific Northwest proves that intelligence to be inaccurate.

"To summarize, Trinitite is an Abyssal ship with a lot of experience in anti submarine warfare, a solid grasp of air-to-air tactics, and judging by her continued survival, excellent damage control capabilities."

"Sara taught her well." Admiral Underwood commented. Pierce would have wondered how the Commander of US Pacific Fleet had gotten here from San Diego before he did, but the ruffled flight suit he was wearing answered his unsaid question. "I can see why the Japanese wanted her so badly."

"Indeed." Lieutenant Murray replied, before changing slides again. "How she survived Bikini is unknown, but we do know she was in good enough condition to Hijack the fishing trawler _Pacific Lilly_ on the ninth."

Oh, that _had _happened, hadn't it? Pierce remembered his intelligence officer had said something about a hostage situation, but while it _was_ interesting, a big convoy had arrived from Japan, and the Admiral had too much on his plate to give the incident proper thought. Now that it was relevant, though…

That was unprecedented, wasn't it?

"While it was possible she was sunk during Bikini, and resummoned immediately by another princess, damage to her deck is consistent with that described during the previous battle, and satellite imagery of the Jellyfish Princess's former base shows the majority of it was destroyed."

"Lot of good supplies there" Captain Newman remarked, the commander of Naval Station Everett shifting in her seat.

"Exactly. We know Abyssals can be spiteful, but I find it unlikely the Jellyfish Princesses's rivals would destroy so much valuable fuel and ammunition. It's possible this was a Scorched Earth move made by Trinitite, meaning she's probably working alone."

"Probably." Newman emphasized.

"Yes." The Lieutenant took a deep breath, glancing at his tablet. "There is a chance she could be working under the orders of the Midway Princess or Northern Ocean Princess."

"That's doubtful." Rear-Admiral Martin Chandler added. The coast guard admiral was rubbing his chin, his gaze focused on the ceiling, rather than the Lieutenant. "If they wanted a spy, a submarine could get ashore without anyone noticing."

"How do we know they haven't?" Lieutenant-Colonel Yates questioned. She nervously glanced over the rest of the brass in the room, as if suddenly realizing how many flag officers NORAD had in one poorly-armored room. "Just because this is the first time we noticed doesn't mean it hasn't happened before."

It was a sobering thought. If an aircraft carrier, a capital ship with a reputation of being the center of attention, could evade the grip of one of the most advanced militaries in the world, what could a Yo-class submarine do?

"We don't." Murphy admitted. "Although that's certainly something to consider in the future." Attempting to return to his rehearsed briefing, he changed slides again, the wall behind him now showing a map of the eastern pacific. "Last week, at 1421, _the Pacific Lilly_, a fishing trawler, was contacted over radio by our Abyssal, who demanded the trawler stop and be boarded. A Civil Air Patrol Orion diverted from its patrol area to trail the _Lilly_, and was communicating with the trawler when the Abyssal boarded. Upon seizing the bridge, Trinitite notified the Orion of her seizure of the boat, before terminating the connection."

The slide changed once again, displaying a still from a video feed of a fishing trawler. Judging by the angle, it was from the deck of a ship much larger than the trawler, and it was impossible to miss the Abyssal in the center of the shot. The Wo-class, its rigging stowed, stood in the center of the deck, a look of wide-eyed desperation visible even from the distant camera. Despite himself, Admiral Pierce felt a pang of pity he had to suppress.

_Always a sucker for a pretty face, ain'tcha John?_

"To deal with the situation, all available hulls in DESRON 1 were tasked to resolve the situation. The force arrayed against Trinitite consisted of the _Benfold _and three of the Farragut Sisters, with the light cruiser Nashville airlifted in as additional support. This should have been enough to deter the Carrier from attempting to make landfall, but she risked a run and managed to succeed due to unorthodox planning, manipulation of the _Pacific Lilly's_ crew, and a lot of luck. I've compiled a more detailed report on the battle based on my experience there, as well as information obtained from other reports and the interrogation of the trawler's crew."

Hold on, Underwood only sent an understrength destroyer squadron? The addition of a light cruiser should have been plenty of firepower, but surely he could have sent a few more ships?

Pierce stopped himself, shaking his head as he refocused on the presentation. Nitpicking other commanders was easy, especially when he didn't have all the information on-hand. Underwood's success in organizing the attack on Bikini and the American contribution to Taiwan's defense showed he wasn't an _incopetent_.

"It wasn't a total defeat, as we managed to capture two of the Abyssal's pilots, but so far we haven't been able to get much information out of them." The Lieutenant glanced at Admiral Underwood as he continued. "They're currently being detained in Nashville's brig, but it may be prudent to transfer them to the VIP quarters of another ship, if they have one."

"I'll consider it." Underwood replied, and Murray nodded in thanks.

"Once she made landfall, an operation to locate Trinitite was launched from this base. On the premise of a training exercise, the 7th infantry deployed to keep her in the Olympic Peninsula, while elements of the 2nd Ranger Battalion attempted to search for her. To their credit, they managed to catch the Abyssal's trail, but with the terrain they simply couldn't chase her down before she arrived at Shelton, Washington."

The slide changed again, revealing a set of freezes from what looked like a department store's CCTV system. Two women dominated each frame, one in an obvious employee uniform, and the other…

In the first two stills, the second was clearly the abyssal, but after the third still the scene changed from shelves of groceries to racks of clothes, the Abyssal's uniform was replaced by disturbingly familiar clothing.

"On the fourteenth, the Abyssal raided a superstore in Shelton, coercing the store's manager into granting her entry, before interrogating her on the store's contents and stealing a good portion of it's inventory. Worse, the Fred Meyers was closed at the time, meaning the employee was alone in facing the Abyssal. If Trinitite hadn't left her unharmed, it would have been several days before we learned about it."

Hold on-

"The civilian lived?" Admiral Chen questioned. Like Pierce, the commander of Naval Base Kitsap had been quiet up until now, but the news had shocked him, as well.

"She did. When I interviewed her afterwards, she said the Abyssal even thanked her, before leaving."

"Awful polite of her…" John commented. There might have been some cold logic behind ditching the crew of the Pacific Lilly, but these actions seemed suspiciously like _mercy_. There were serious implications, there.

"It was." The Spook agreed. "I have a theory, which I'll explain later. Until then, I'm sure you've noticed how the differences in the Abyssal's apparel between the four CCTV stills I've displayed. Yes, she has collected a significant wardrobe, and has stolen several cosmetic products to hide her eyes and skin. It's safe to assume the Abyssal is not only dressed as a human, but indistinguishable from one at a distance."

The slide changed again, but Lieutenant Murray had deemed to leave this one blank.

"That's where we are at the moment. Trinitite, a fleet carrier with experience in antisubmarine warfare, and thus trying to think like us and predict our actions, has survived our attack on Bikini Atoll, and then used her experience to bluff her way onto the continental US, and is now hidden among the regular civilian population. Using the information we have so far, I'll provide my theory on her motivation and goals, before turning things back over to Admiral MacKey.

"During the Battle at Bikini, Trinitite was heavily damaged by an Evolved Sea-Sparrow missile launched from one of our missile destroyers. However, she made it to land before the Japanese fleet arrived, meaning they missed her, presuming the Carrier sunk. While on land, she was able to witness our rescuing of Saratoga. As the Jellyfish Princess had no solid allies in the area, and as She'd discussed some of her past with her fleet, the Abyssal decided to search for her former Princess in the United States. What she plans on doing if she finds Saratoga is unknown, but it's not something we have to worry about. She's currently safe in Naval Station San Francisco, and in eleven hours she'll be safely aboard a C-17 bound for Yokosuka."

Lieutenant Murray turned his attention to Admiral MacKey, nodding to his officer. "The JMSDF may have done us a favor by requesting her assignment. That's all I have, Admiral."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." NORAD's commander stood, replacing the spook at the front of the room. Accepting the remote the Lieutenant handed to him, he powered off the projector, leaving him as the sole focus of attention in the room.

"Now, I'm going to have to brief the Joint Chiefs on this incident, and they're going to be asking me what our plan is." Come to think of it, Pierce's superiors would like the same. "As this situation is unprecedented, I'm open to any ideas."

"Hand this case over to the FBI, sir." Lieutenant-Colonel Yates suggested. "With all due respect, this is a homeland security issue now."

"Too risky." MacKey replied. "The more people we get involved, the bigger chance the news an Abyssal roaming near Seattle leaks. We can't afford a mass panic, especially with the convoy here."

It was unsaid, but everyone knew another reason the Admiral wanted this kept quiet. After the loss of Oahu and the La Palma disaster, America's Media and Politicians had been hell-bent on finding a scapegoat. Maybe this new war required new blood to fight it, but more than one perfectly competent flag officer had been forced into an early retirement after they'd committed the gross sin of failing to predict the actions of eldritch abominations. In personal conversations, John knew several former flag officers who would have preferred a death in the line of fire over sitting the rest of the war out, another fate disturbingly common among flag officers.

Glancing around the room, John knew most of his colleagues shared their sentiment.

Knowledge of Trinitite, and the disaster she was causing, would remain safely inside this political phalanx until they had her, dead or alive.

"We've got a lot of shipgirls in at the moment." Captain Kathy Newman mused. Everett's commander sighed, clearly not sold on her own idea. "I suppose we can't send them out to start beating bushes?"

"No, too public." Admiral Chen replied. "Besides, I trust all of our girls, but sharing this with so many ships is asking for a mistake to happen."

"Still, it would be good if we could use them." Admiral Underwood added. "Letting everyone know is a mistake, but if we brief one ship from every group that goes on leave, we've got a good chance of them stumbling across our fugitive."

"Seems prudent enough." Admiral MacKey nodded. "Anything more proactive?"

"Drones." Captain Roland Sullivan stated. NAS Whidbey Island's commander looked towards General Hudson, silently asking for support. "Our abyssal might _look _human, but she still won't have a thermal signature, right? We won't need much manpower for it, either. An algorithm that flags anything that looks human, but doesn't have the proper signature."

In response the older officer leaned forwards, silently shaking his head.

"I don't see it working. I'd have to commission a team of programmers, and they would need months to ensure we aren't sending battleships against every mannequin, statue and advertisement in Washington." He looked back up, shrugging apologetically. "Even then, I'd want an abyssal to test against, just to make sure they don't overcorrect and filter them out, too."

"Nevertheless, we might need that in the future." Admiral MacKey replied, nodding at Captain Sullivan. "See if you can float the idea to the Intelligence Community."

"Still, they could be useful." Rear-Admiral Chandler added. "If the Abyssal wants to launch aircraft, she'll have to find a good lake to launch from." That was one saving grace. The steam catapult may be an effective way to launch an aircraft fore, but it was even more effective at launching a shipgirl backwards. Only in a sufficiently large body of water, where a shipgirl's hull-form could manifest and provide the mass needed to anchor the catapult, would the device be useful.

"We could automate that, as well." Chandler continued. "Order some civilian drones or cheap live cameras, station them near any lakes in this region, and have them flag us whenever they register Abyssal weirdness."

"That shouldn't be too difficult." General Hudson replied. "The Second Rangers are already briefed on this fiasco, getting them further involved won't cause any issues."

"Do it." Admiral MacKey ordered. "Any other ideas?"

"It's a shame we won't have access to Saratoga." Captain Sullivan stated. "I know the Lieutenant is worried about what would happen if Trinitite found her, but the Carrier would be amazing bait for a trap."

"Hold that thought." MacKey replied. "If we can't find The Fugitive before Saratoga returns, we can use her as a nuclear option. Any other ideas?"

"Sir?"

All eyes in the room turned back towards Lieutenant Murray. Taking the attention as approval to speak, the spook continued.

"I know a good private detective. We aren't on good personal terms, sir, but she's a professional, and will work with us. If anyone knows how to discreetly track down someone who's trying to disappear, it'll be her, and we won't have to get anyone else involved."

A second passed, and Pierce redirected his attention to Admiral MacKey. The old aviator seemed unamused, but it was clear there weren't many other options. Better a single civilian get involved, than hundreds of enlisted and contractors from one of the Alphabet Agencies.

"What's her security clearance?"

"None, sir." Murray admitted, deferring the point, and John thought that would be the end of it. To the Rear-Admiral's surprise, however, MacKey nodded.

"Get her one. In the meantime, Captain Newman?" Newman straightened in her seat. Her eyes widening slightly.

"Sir?"

"Do you have an open office in Everett?"

"We can make space." She replied, the unexpected question leaving an unsure response.

"Good. I'm transferring Lieutenant Murray and USS Nashville to you. Murray, from this point onwards, you're in charge of hunting down Trinitite. You'll be in immediate command of Nashville, your team of analysts, the detective you want, and anything else you need to find her. Keep a low profile, report to Newman, and godspeed."

"Yes sir." The otherwise stoic Lieutenant looked like he'd just been punched. Not only had the Analyst just been shackled with the chains of command, but that responsibility was a hell of a poisoned chalice.

Pierce had finally placed the man's name, as a contributor to several reports he'd read on abyssal psychology and tactics, but he was still fairly unimportant in the grand scheme of the American Navy. Simply, he now was an easy scapegoat, if shit truly hit the fan.

"Any questions?" Admiral MacKey asked, but the room remained silent. "Alright, I won't hold you any longer. Dismissed."

The rustle of shifting uniforms once again filled the room as the collection of officers stood to make their way towards their respective transports. Unlike when Pierce had entered, however, the traditional murmuring was subdued and half-hearted. Pierce was the same. He had too much to worry about for small talk. He needed to reassess the security around Esquimalt, as well as briefing Admiral Hadia, the Prime Minister, and a list of trusted shipgirls he hadn't figured out yet.

Beyond that, though, John's head was buzzing with the implications. A hostage situation was a rather crude method, but it _was _an abyssal attempting to negotiate with humans. That was progress in a direction he hadn't expected at all, and if you added the fact Trinitite had shown a capability for _mercy_?

Many of his colleagues would balk at the prospect, but he'd sell his soul for a few more hulls. The world's navies had already gotten used to using former abyssal princesses in their ranks…

…why not some of their fodder?

* * *

**So apparently NORAD has been doing Maritime stuff for quite a while. Huh. Kinda glad they didn't change their name, but it's a little confusing.**

**Anyways, this is my third attempt at writing this interlude. The first got trashed because of a critical research error, and the second because it just wasn't coming together how I wanted. It was more difficult to write during a surprisingly hectic break, but I'm back in a routine I can fit writing into, so there's that. **

**Anyways, this was my last chapter before I dive into the construction arc, and part of the reason why its so long. Before writing, I told myself I wasn't splitting this one. Anyways, expect a bit of a delay (although hopefully one not as long as the latest one) while I get the whole thing outlined out. I'm generally more of a freeform writer, but I want to make sure all of the chess pieces characters are set up correctly before I write it out.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. I'm rehashing a good deal of information here, but hopefully there were plenty of new things to process.**


	30. Orientation

A few hours ago, the rain had petered out. A low wind lofted through the trees, drying Trinitite's clothes as she wandered through the world of humans. Thankfully, her new jacket protected her shirt, retaining a pleasant layer of moisture as she walked. The sun hadn't cleared the eastern horizon yet, but it's light had cast the clouds above in sharp relief. Even with the light from passing vehicles and the lights lining the street obstructing the light, the view had the abyssal standing in awe.

It wasn't an alien sight to the Carrier. In several Abyssal-held locations, sunrise and sunset was the only time the land got direct sunlight. Even when a Princess's unique weather extended over the horizon, one didn't have to cruise far to watch the sun peeking over the ocean, painting the sky red and highlighting dark sheets of rain in brilliant orange.

Here, the sun was hidden by buildings and trees, and the nearby streetlights spoiled the effect somewhat, but she didn't mind. Without her interior lighting, she needed those to ensure her island crew had _some _light to work in, and even with the light's interference, the sight sucked the air out of her boilers.

Focusing on the sky had forced her to stop, her rangefinders glued upwards as she watched the clouds brighten. With half an hour before she had to report to the construction site and with the Abyssal only a few miles away, she had plenty of time to enjoy the view.

After leaving the library, Trinitite had ultimately decided against scouting Everett. Doing it personally was a serious risk, especially if she encountered a wandering enemy ship. A squad from her marine contingent could watch the bay with a lower profile, and she ultimately planned on such a mission, but as they were now?

She had_ much _more experience on land than her marines did. They had no priority when her mother was teaching her the basics of naval warfare, and what little training they _had _done hadn't involved stealth, hiding, or reconnaissance at all. If anything, Trinitite's marine contingent could be considered an auxiliary damage control crew, rather than any kind of soldiers.

She could try later, when the much less risky option of using the library's resources had been better explored. Hopefully by then, Her marines could get some evasion training in. She'd need them for propper reconnaissance eventually, after all.

She couldn't stand and watch forever, though. Many abyssal princesses looked for any reason to punish their subjects, and falling behind schedule was a great excuse for them to act on their frustrations.

_Torpedo damage? Remind me why you have a destroyer screen?_

No. Being late to her new assignment wouldn't do at all.

Without a fleet of workers swarming over the construction site, it looked much less hopeful. From this angle Trinitite couldn't see over the fence surrounding the site, but judging by silence as she approached the site, she knew the view on the other side of that fence would be completely different. Even the street was empty. So far, she could count the number of active vehicles she'd passed in the last hour on one hand.

It was one of the more surreal aspects of human society. Her crew ran in shifts to keep her active, meaning after spending weeks cruising at sea, fighting through sporadic battles, and stumbling through a forest, she'd only needed a few hours of sleep, and she knew the enemy's ships, steel-hull or no, acted the same way. On land, however, everyone seemed to be only working in one or two shifts, with almost all humans disappearing into their quarters when things got dark.

She wasn't complaining: The fact so much of the city periodically let their guard down might have been one of the only reasons she made it so far, but now that she had time to think about it, witnessing entire cities… _power down_ every night was a little unnerving. For a nation at war, wasn't that inefficient? It was one of those issues she didn't dare speculate on, until she'd gathered more intelligence on humans.

The temporary structure, labeled as the 'Site Office,' was quiet as well, but the nearby vehicle pool had three filled spots, so there had to be someone to meet her. Trinitite approached the front door, moving to press the button at its side like the instructions printed across it's front, but her hand paused inches away from the button.

Her chronometer read 6:11. Normally, being twenty minutes early to a position was a good thing, but Trinitite didn't fully trust her readings. In the Library the time had been an hour behind, forcing her to adjust her instruments. If battle damage meant she was an hour ahead, then she'd barely avoided being unacceptably late, meaning she could have opened the door to a beating, or worse, Dan could refuse to give her a job.

However, if the _Library_ had been off, then she could be walking in a full hour early, long before her future commander was ready for her. Not as big as a deal, but if that incident with the Night Straight Princesses taught her anything, catching your superior off-guard and embarrassing them could be just as dangerous as failing their orders.

The Library was probably more accurate, as it hadn't been struck by a rocket, suffered an internal detonation, and been shelled by several warships, but it didn't _feel_ like 06:12. Plus, jarring her chronometer might make it a little off, but by almost _exactly_ an hour?

The door abruptly swung open, and Trinitite jerked backwards, A thin railing the only thing preventing her from tumbling down the two steps and onto the pavement. After recovering, Trinitite spared a glance at the rail, spending a split second to ensure she hadn't damaged it, before looking up to the now-open door.

"You're just standing there?" The imposing form of her future commander filled the doorway. The building's height, his thick jacket, and large helmet added to his already-impressive bulk. "Come in before you freeze to death!"

An excuse formed, then died, on Trinitite's lips, the abyssal meekly nodding before following the man inside. _Deep_, she'd tried to avoid embarrassment over her time of arrival, only to make herself look like an idiot by hesitating! She'd just have to hope the Foreman was feeling merciful and look over it.

As far as humans went, Dan Pratt was the most intimidating Trinitite had encountered so far. Maybe it was because of his authority, or because she'd only seen him inside this small building, but he always seemed _bigger _than she'd come to expect with humans. Obviously he didn't compare to her hull form, but at the moment Trinitite had to look up at her new commander.

"Is that the hire you were talking about?"

Trinitite's attention was drawn to another human in the room. The second man stood, shifting a cup of that bitter liquid to his off-hand and approaching the duo. Maybe it was his outfit, his thin shirt lending much less to his bulk than Dan's thick coat, but he seemed much lankier than his colleague.

"It is." Dan nodded, waving towards the other human. "Elizabeth, this is Thomas Sandoval, the Manager around here."

"I may be senior to Dan here, but he's going to be your boss." Thomas smiled thinly, extending his own hand. "I'll be ensuring we're under budget while he'll be keeping you in line."

Trinitite accepted the handshake, this time duplicating his motions instead of letting him guide her through the gesture.

"Huh, those are some pretty fancy gloves." He noted, releasing her hand. "Where did you get them?"

"Uh… I'm not sure." Trinitite replied, not entirely sure if she was lying. "You'd have to ask my Mother."

In a way, her gloves were a part of who she was. It wasn't like her rigging, which was literally an extension of her form, but until recently she'd never worn anything else. The human gloves she'd tried had been clunky, fragile, and uncomfortable, and as her regular gloves didn't seem _that _different she'd stuck with what she had. As for where it came from, where _she _came from?

Discussions about that sort of thing with her fleet-mates were entertaining, but never went anywhere. Besides, talking about such deep topics with humans might be possible, but she didn't think she could any time soon.

"If it has any sentimental value, I'd suggest you pocket it." Dan added. "A few weeks of work here are going to destroy those." They wouldn't, she knew, especially with her crew maintaining them, but Trinitite nodded anyways.

"I'll consider that."

The answer seemed to satisfy him, as Dan stepped forwards.

"How are your boots?"

"Uh…" Trinitite's answer died in her throat as the human's foot shot forwards, the man dilibriely stepping on her toe. Seemingly satisfied, Dan lifted his foot, before pressing on Trinitite's other boot.

"Seems solid." The Foreman nodded, satisfied.

That was a relief, considering the rough work she'd had to do to reinforce it. With how many different shoes she'd gained from the raid on the warehouse, Trinitite had thought one pair would have been protected, but after going through all her boots, she couldn't find anything with steel reinforcement. She'd had to rely on her crew to fill the need, utilizing damaged plating and her machine shop to reinforce the bulkiest shoes she had. It wasn't comfortable at all, and the dark abyssal steel would be obvious if her boot was damaged, but it would do for now.

"You'll need a helmet and vest, as well." Dan continued. "I'll see if we have anything that fits you." The human took a seat behind another desk, presumably his duty station. "In the meantime, let's get you up to speed."

When Trinitite had first entered the office, Dan had been staring at what had seemed to be a steel case, although she hadn't gotten a good look at its contents. Now, as the man reopened it, the Abyssal couldn't help but lean forwards, curious of its contents.

Hmm, that looked like the instrument she'd seen in the library. Was this supposed to connect to a computer, or…

He flipped the thin device around, revealing a glowing display. This time, the Wo-class found it easy to hide her surprise. So this was a computer as well? She'd never thought she'd ask herself this question, but with how slim it was, why were computers at the library so big? At this point, Trinitite was starting to think she should start asking what humans _couldn't _do with technology, rather than what they could.

"Do you have headphones?" Dan must have been expecting Trinitite to shake her head, because he immediately produced a rolled wire, plugging one end into the computer and handing the other end to Trinitite.

"These go in my ears?" She confirmed, looking over the devices on the other end of the split wire. When she'd heard 'headphones,' she expected something more along the line of what the Supply Depot Princess wore, but these made enough sense. Plug one end into the computer, and the other to herself. Not much different than any other cable, right?

The human nodded. "You'll need to watch a few videos discussing safety on the jobsite. Once you're done, let me know, and I'll ask you a few questions about the rules. Pass my test, and I'll let you out there." He started doing something on the computer, but Trinitite's eyes found her eyes focusing on the man's hands, rather than the display.

_How the Deep_ did that pad work? The instrument in the library had made good sense to her: Move it, and it would move the indicator on the screen accordingly. The process of exactly _how _it worked was lost to her, but building a device which could do such a thing didn't seem particularly outlandish.

Detecting touch, though?

A memory from the Pacific Lilly returned, of bored human fishermen poking at an even smaller device on a table. The small fleet bearing down on her had prevented her from pondering the scene too much, but this must have used a similar system.

It didn't solve the mystery, but she guessed she shouldn't have been so surprised by it. Although…

What if it couldn't detect _her _fingers?

The human leaned forwards to enter text into the computer, his hands exploding into motion. It took all of the Abyssal's discipline to avoid showing her surprise as she watched in amazement as the man's hands danced across the portable console. Could all humans operate a computer that fast? If she tried inputting data that quickly, Trinitite would be more worried about tearing the device apart than getting anything spelled correctly. Would her cautious picking at the computer mark her as suspicious to other humans? Either she needed an excuse to avoid these machines, or a _lot _more experience.

Daniel paused, turning to look at Trinitite.

"You know how to use this, right?"

She eyed the computer like an armed bomb.

"I've had some practice." Trinitite finally admitted, trying to remember the smaller details of her research last night.

"But not on your island?" The human queried, his face straight.

"Yeah."

"Well," He continued, waving towards the machine's display, "I've got two videos for you to watch. Follow each of these links, watch the video all the way through, then let me know. I'll ask you a few questions, see if you remembered everything important. Pass my test? I'll let you out there. Understood?"

"Aye aye." Trinitite replied, snapping a subdued salute. Instead of dismissing it or ignoring it, as she'd expected from other princesses, the human actually _flinched_, momentary surprise filling his face. Had she messed up? Now that she was thinking about it, there were some extra rules about saluting inside, but as a ship who never spent much time under a roof, she couldn't remember her mother's lessons on them.

Dan looked away, exchanging a quick glance with Thomas, but in the brief moment Trinitite couldn't make out either of their expressions. A simple salute couldn't have been _that _bad, right? The split second of silence seemed to drag, and Trinitite felt her salute become more rigid as she anticipated a response.

Finally, her prospective boss chuckled.

"You don't need to be that formal, here." he replied, shaking his head. "A simple 'Yes' or 'Sure, boss' will do fine."

"Oka- Sure, Boss." She stuttered, lowering the salute.

"Okay works too." He sighed, stepping away from the device and motioning to a nearby chair. Obliging, Trinitite manned the device, giving the pad an experimental poke. The image moved accordingly, _thank the deep_, and Trinitite moved the point of the familiar arrow symbol over the two links.

_Construction Safety Basics_

_Sexual Harassment Prevention_

Harassment? Did they have to worry about raiders? Suddenly, the importance of this briefing became much more understandable. Sure, Dan could explain every possible threat to her, but she knew how dangerous a miscommunication could be. A single briefing, made once and approved by the commander, would be much safer.

Well, best to get started. How did you click on one of these devices? Dan had tapped one of the corners of the pad. It should be left one, like in the library, right?

Her hunch was proved correct, as the screen changed again. Headphones in, Trinitite found a nearby chair to use, sitting for a long briefing.

* * *

A few months ago, Trinitite had been tasked by the Southern War princess to deliver vital fuel, ammunition, and raw material to the princess at Hong Kong. She couldn't point to one moment which clued her in, but a series of smaller incidents, such as the occasional avoided question or the suspicious lack of human raids, had set the Wo-class on edge. Throughout the mission, a feeling of doom had started in her keel, weighing heavier and heavier until the Abyssal was certain she was cruising lower in the water than normal.

That feeling of doom had eventually saved her fleet, as after some discussion with her sisters, Firestorm sent one of her scouts into the storm surrounding the island. Like the three had expected, it had been downed shortly after entering the maelstrom, but to her horror it hadn't met it's fate due to poor conditions or a jumpy patrol, but by one of _six_ human battleships. After beating a hasty retreat back to the Southern War Princess's abode, it was discovered that the humans had been shelling Hong Kong for some time now, and the Southern War Princesses' little mission had been an attempt to lure the Crossroads fleet into open combat with human forces.

As she sat, staring at the display, Trinitite couldn't shake the same feeling. She was missing something _very _important, and she didn't have the time to run back to the library and figure out what.

Something about the way the humans spoke, approached, and touched each other in the second video set off alarms in the Abyssal's mind, but she was having trouble figuring out why. The film had a fairly standard setup: A series of scenarios were depicted, showing one or many aggressors attempting to do… something to a defending human. Trinitite wasn't a stranger to belittling and demeaning comments, but these had an edge to them, a layer Trinitite wasn't aware of that the defending human certainly was.

It must have had to do with that word: Sexual. That single qualifier had to be what made this training so important, if she could figure out what it meant. If only she hadn't gotten so distracted yesterday!

Trinitite leaned backwards, sighing. The second video was important, she was sure, but it's actual instructions boiled down to "Report to your supervisor." The first video, however, seemed the most pressing.

It had been… dense. Trinitite hoped some of her officers had been taking notes, because Trinitite already knew she'd forgotten something important. Was she supposed to bring her own glasses, or were they supposed to be provided to her? How exactly did she tie up her hair? How much concrete was she going to be working with, and since she didn't remember any rubber boots in the warehouse she raided, where was she supposed to get them?

With no film playing, she could hear the office's doors opening before reports from her lookouts came in. She'd been ignoring the contact reports, instead focusing on the oddities in front of her. Now, however, she found herself giving them more attention.

_Contact, human, door two. Big, red coat, armed with white cup. _

Recognizing the description, Trinitite turned, catching her future boss's gaze. Cup in hand, Dan spoke.

"You done?" Even though he walked casually, the human's large stride meant he covered the distance between the two surprisingly quickly.

"Yes." She nodded, reminding herself not to salute as she stood. "It's a lot of information, though."

"It's a dangerous job." He replied, pointing over his shoulder. "There are hundreds of ways to get yourself hurt out there. Most of the time, you'll be fine if you listen to your supervisor, but you need to pay attention if you want to stay out of trouble." Dan waved his hand over Trinitite. "Once I get you a helmet and vest, what do you need to fix before I let you out there?"

"Hmm…" Trinitite mumbled, looking down at herself. "I need to tuck my pant legs into my boots."

"That wouldn't hurt," the big human admitted, shaking his head. "But it wasn't what I was talking about."

"Oh." Trinitite exhaled, the pressure in her active boiler increasing. What was he looking for? Trinitite couldn't shake the feeling that the answer was glaringly obvious, yet she was drawing a blank. Looking back at her perspective commander, Trinitite followed his gaze towards her… forehead? Her hand rose, brushing against her hair.

"Right. I need to tie this up?"

"Correct." He nodded, and fell silent. Trinitite returned his stare, waiting for the next question. It didn't come, one second, then two, dragging on as she returned her boss's stare. "You don't have a hair tie, do you?"

"No?"

Why did he say it like that? Were all humans supposed to have a hair tie?

"Thought so." He replied, his disappointed sigh familiar to the Abyssal. "Hey, Thomas."

"Yeah?" The manager replied, looking up from his display.

"Could I get a rubber band?"

"Sure." He replied, leaning forwards and shuffling through a container Trinitite couldn't see. In less than a second, he rose again. "Catch."

Suddenly, Trinitite's lookouts noticed an incoming projectile. A quick guess put the object on a trajectory to collide with her, and instinctively Trinitite threw herself into evasive maneuvers. With a quick push, the Aircraft carrier dove to the side, dodging the attack…

…and colliding with the back of the chair she'd been using, sending both the chair and herself into a less-than-graceful tumble. With a _clunk _and a _thud_, Trinitite fell to the floor, her plans for a graceful landing ruined.

Silence filled the room as the aircraft regained her bearing, her mind reeling. She'd just been attacked by one of her superiors. Had it been a punishment for not being prepared, or another element of this test? Maybe the projectile had been harmless, especially to a capital ship like her, but there were rumors of Princesses who literally threw depth charges at subordinates they didn't like.

She slowly stood, analyzing the faces of her perspective commanders. They stared back at her, eyes wide as they watched her stand.

"You okay?" The thinner of the two asked, his display forgotten. So he _hadn't _thought she'd dodge if he threw something at her? Sure, humans didn't have secondary guns, or depth charges, or torpedo launchers, or aircraft, but that didn't mean they couldn't throw dangerous projectiles at her. What were they expecting?

"I'm fine." She replied, managing to keep her unexpected resentment out of her statement. She couldn't keep herself from pouting, however, when she heard a chuckle from Dan.

"Damn." Her boss commented. "I know I told 'ya to pay attention, but you don't have to reenact the Matrix when someone throws a rubber band."

Trinitite ignored her boss, hoping the dark flush she knew was flooding her cheeks didn't look _too _unnatural. Instead, the Abyssal searched for the object, finding a simple band of rubber. She wasn't sure if there was any speed at which it could damage her, but after Bikini, she wasn't going to take any hit she could avoid. Lets see, it was falling by the time it would have hit her, meaning it wouldn't have landed much farther than she'd been… There.

"I'll get you everything else, then keep questioning you during the tour." Trinitite looked up, seeing her boss's teasing had abruptly ended. Odd, she was used to ships or installations doubling down when they had a subordinate embarrassed like that. As the human turned and left again, she watched him leave, still puzzled about his sudden change. It didn't seem too related to that Harassment film she'd watched, but maybe his restraint had to do with avoiding a, what was it called? A lawsuit? Something else to look up later, she supposed.

Sighing, she picked the chair back up, taking a seat while focusing her attention back on the rubber band. At this point, it was looking like she was never going to understand humans. Good thing she only had to pretend to do so.

Now, she knew plenty of princesses who tied their hair up, but how could she do it in such a way to keep it all in her helmet?

* * *

**Ayy, I'm back!**

**This chapter took a while, partially because 400-level Computer Science classes are pretty time consuming, partially because the subject of this chapter was a lot of bookkeeping and not much character or action, and partially because I started another project (homebrewing a political RPG, not another fanfic, although I do want to write more).**

**Next chapter introduces some new characters that I'm pretty exited to write, so it should come out faster, but after a delay like this I'm not exactly setting a high bar, am I?**


	31. Commute

He woke suddenly, bed sheets clinging to his body as darkness filled his vision. For a moment, his eyes darted around the room, before movement to his left reminded him where he was and he finally relaxed.

Alton Owen's gaze drifted to his side, resting on the silhouette of his partner. Sometimes, Mabel's situation had him burning with envy. Her dreams weren't plagued with dense jungles, sporadic gunfire, and glowing eyes, but in the end, Alton couldn't blame her for anything. He'd been the one urging her to evacuate early, while he'd stuck with his steady job until it had been far too late.

Even in the darkness and covered by thick sheets, Alton found his eyes drawn to his wife's figure. A set of familiar urges rose, but he quickly suppressed them. With her holding her own job, Mabel needed sleep as much as he did. Alton sighed, sitting up and reaching for his phone. Just how much sleep was he missing out on? The screen's glow filled the room as it woke, forcing Alton to blink before he could read the time.

_5:27_

Well, he guessed he wasn't missing out on _that _much. While three more minutes of sleep probably wouldn't have made a difference in how well rested, the bitter feeling of being cheated took hold in his gut.

Speaking of which, it would probably be best to disable his alarm before it disturbed his wife's slumber. Mable would hate it if he snuck out, but a few extra minutes of sleep as he showered would be welcome, he was sure.

A groan emerged from the covers behind him, and Alton let his shoulders slump. Not the best start to the day.

"_You awake?_" He whispered, turning his phone screen off.

"Yeah." She grunted. "What time is it?"

"_Five-twenty eight_." He replied, standing. "_Sorry_."

"Mmmh." Mable replied, grabbing the bed's comforter and rolling. As his wife turned, Alton allowed the bedsheets to be pulled away from him, exposing himself to the frigid morning air. _That _woke him up. How did people live this far north?

With a sigh, Alton stood, leaving Mable to work on salvaging a few more minutes of sleep. He knew she didn't really blame her for waking her up early, but a feeling of guilt followed him into the bathroom. He'd have to prepare more than eggs and rice for their breakfast.

Come to think of it, there was plenty of frozen fruit in the freezer. It was especially pricey these days, but if they never used it, it was money wasted. Without giving much thought, he started the shower, waiting for the water to warm while he took mental inventory of their freezer.

He wasn't much of a cook, but he certainly could ensure his wife woke to something special.

* * *

The car in front of him halted, forcing Alton to tap his breaks again, his sedan sliding to yet another stop. Knowing he was going to be here for a while, Alton shifted his vehicle back into neutral, allowing himself to release the clutch and rest for a moment. He sighed, taking a moment to study the house to his left.

Another morning, another hour of stop-and-go traffic.

"_Ever since man has known the sea, it's immense power has inspired fear and wonder. Rumors of dark gods, lost cities, and horrifying monsters abound, from hushed whispers to grand tales of adventure and horror._"

He missed his old Explorer.

It hadn't been much, all things considered, but at least it had intact upholstery. The old sedan he'd managed to find barely had seats at all, something he wouldn't normally complain about, if he wasn't stuck in it for two hours each every day.

For six days a week.

For the last four months.

"_Even now, things lurk under the surface of the water. The events of the past two years probably spring to your mind, of course, and they are indeed why we're revisiting this topic. Long-term listeners might recognize some of the mysteries we'll be investigating, but with everything that's happened in the last two years, I think they can pardon us for revisiting some topics._"

At least he had something to do, beyond staring at the stationary bumper of the car in front of him. His 'new' car burned oil almost as quickly as gas, had a clutch which must have suffered serious abuse from its previous owner, and judging by the heat gage, had just started leaking coolant, but at least it had a working radio. Add a bluetooth FM transmitter, and Alton could relax on a podcast when he wasn't focused on surviving the horde of motor vehicles which choked Washington's roads.

"_The majority of this episode will be investigating some of our previous conclusions, including legends of sunken cities, suspicious disappearances, and prewar reports of ghost ships._"

He'd listened to several different podcasts to help make these commutes more bearable, ranging in topics from history, science, politics, and sports. This one, however, was certainly the oddest. A few years back, he probably wouldn't have considered it, but with everything that had happened in the world he couldn't dismiss the stories the two hosts would investigate. Most of it was bunk, of course, but the wild stories and intriguing mysteries they covered provided a good distraction from the soul-grinding traffic that had become a major feature of his life.

"_We actually had to re-record this episode the day before release. You might notice this episode is a little longer than normal, and that's because of a strange video that someone sent us. We'll be diving into that, and if we don't find it interesting, then we'll go with the last take, so if you're hearing this make sure to stick around._"

That would explain the extra thirty minutes. Normally, the hour-long show was just about the right size for his Saturday commute, but unless the state was widening Highway 203 a month early, he'd be parking just as they got around to investigating something new. A bit of a disappointment, but he'd have time to listen on the way back.

However, that would mean missing out on his sports podcast. After missing the game yesterday, he was kind of hoping for a good summary on the Seahawks' performance. He wasn't all that interested in the local team, but if they were failing he needed to know, else he'd miss out on an opportunity to rag on the locals.

Well, he'd find time.

* * *

Thankfully, the traffic started to clear once he got closer to his jobsite. It only took a few moments of stop-and-go to cover the ground between intersections, and he even found himself shifting into third occasionally. Not an enjoyable commute, but it was the kind of traffic he was familiar with.

"_Right, this is where we'd planned on ending this, but one of our viewers sent Aaron this video and it's so weird we had to talk about it._"

Thankfully, the lane across from him was empty, meaning he could make his last turn without slowing the traffic behind him. If they didn't add this extra section, the podcast would have been the perfect length. The familiar vehicles of his co-workers swung into view as he pulled into the site's parking lot, little more than a patch of particularly sandy mud.

"_It's quite the video, too. On September 13th, the youtube channel KalalochWitness was created, and uploaded one video: ' 4.'_"

The Sedan's tires crackled against the lot's sandy mud, Alton's gaze flitting over his co-workers vehicles. There was the Foreman's chrome titan, a few mid-range vehicles belonging to natives, and several of the clunkers owned by other refugees with families, but compared to prewar sites the lot was exceptionally bare. Most refugees were single, or practically so, and lived in the portable barracks set up across the office.

"_In the description, the uploader described themselves as an employee of Olympic National Park, and that this was filmed off the coast of Washington_."

What?

There was a battle offshore? That or a rumor of one, but that was how things started at home, too. Back then he'd asked his wife to leave just to be safe, but otherwise ignored things until it was far too late. This time?

He was about to collide with the fence in front of him. Alton tensed, slamming on the breaks as the car jolted to a stop.

"_This video is… strange. We don't look much at combat footage, but we had to do some research to check if it was legitimate, and from what we can tell it seems legitimate._"

He needed to calm down. He wasn't on a small island anymore, but a vast, heavily-defended continent. The Abyssals had much shorter supply lines in the east coast, and even then they needed to engineer a _tsunami _to make any headway in an attack. Beyond that, if the news hadn't lied about it, La Palma had been as much of a disaster for them as it was for the US. He'd have to move further inland to be truly safe, but for now?

"_There's this large fog bank, maybe a smoke screen, that hides one side of combat, but there's a lot of different weapons fire. Only one ship is visible, and it flickers like we've seen with shipgirls._"

"_But what is she? It's hard to imagine an abyssal ship that large getting this close to shore, but assuming this is real, there are plenty of different-_"

The radio died with the car's engine, Alton reaching for his phone to pause the podcast. He knew he'd spend another fifteen minutes listening if he allowed himself to, and if he wasn't parked outside his work he certainly would.

He had a job to do, though, and a distraction like that wasn't necessary. He'd get caught up during the less congested drive home, and ponder the rumor later.

It was probably nothing, anyways.

* * *

On the other side of the fence, the noise of passing vehicles sounding twice as distant as she guessed they were. The ground was shielded by the ever-present ceiling of clouds, the sun's harsh rays diffused into a diffuse glow that cast everything in an even light. Several humans paced the site, observing various pieces of equipment or half-built structures with a practiced eye.

The rest of the humans quietly chatted among each other, grouped up in formations of two to five people. Occasionally, they stole a glance at the pair walking through the site, although Trinitite wasn't sure if the stares were because of her novelty or the identity of her guide.

"Here's building three."

Forman Pratt explained, waving his hand over a large pit several yards away from them.

"We've started digging the foundation here, and once we've got the retainer wall in we'll get this crew working on building four over… there."

Trinitite hadn't fully comprehended the scale of the project until his supervisor took her inside site perimeter. The pair were standing over a pit, twice as wide as her hull and about a fourth as long. At the far end of the depression, some kind of engineering vehicle sat, facing an uneven wall of dirt and mud. The rough wall contrasted sharply with the three others, the pit's even sides maintained by reinforcing struts.

"In a few months, there's gonna be four buildings on this lot."

Dan turned, waving towards the larger of the two structures. The squat building was about twice as wide as her hull, while falling short of her length. Even unfinished, Trinitite could make out the stout skeleton of a structure she was familiar with. She'd only seen them from a distance, but they'd decorated every abandoned city she'd seen across the pacific.

"Fifteen stories each, twenty apartments a floor. That means once this is done, 1200 families from out there…" Dan pointed over his shoulder, directing his thumb towards somewhere beyond the site's perimeter. "...Get a new home."

One thousand, two hundred? Trinitite wasn't sure how many humans made up a family, but judging by her mother's reminiscing of her last daughters, those who'd been doomed by The Fire… Fifteen, Thirty people?

Hold on, that meant they were planning on moving about _Thirty six thousand Thousand_ humans into this place! _By the deep_, with about nine-thousand humans per building, the population of just one of these buildings _far _outnumbered the combined strength of every fleet in the pacific. Trinitite couldn't hope to make an estimate of how much the abyssal fleets had in crew, but while the number was much higher, she kept remembering the astounding size of cities like Singapore, Port Moresby and Seattle, and how many blocky structures, abandoned or otherwise, had been scattered _everywhere_.

Her boilers tightened, and she gripped her new helmet as her boots temporarily slipped in the mud. Trinitite could calculate the trajectory of a shell in a storm, perform precise estimates of an aircraft's range based on their payload, fuel, and local weather, and could precisely arrange the aircraft, fuel, and cargo to ensure she was as balanced and seaworthy as possible, even with her pumps fighting flooding in several compartments, but she couldn't begin to wrap her head around how many humans there must be. Even if every ship in the abyss had a crew larger than her own, they were outnumbered, _massively_.

No wonder humans hadn't resorted to The Fire yet.

"You coming?"

Dan had started moving again, pausing a few feet away to ensure his Abyssal subordinate was following.

"Oh." Trinitite shook her head, jogging to catch up with the Foreman. "Sorry."

"Don't space out like that." The human chided. He kept his voice low and even, but Trinitite still got the feeling he was dead serious. "There's a hundred ways to die in here."

"Aye Aye." She replied, nodding. Even when chastising her, the big human's voice didn't have the edge she was used to from Abyssal princesses. It reminded her more of the way other abyssals would lecture their fleet-mates, rather than the tone she'd expected from Princesses. Odly, the rebuke seemed to hit harder that way. Hopefully he didn't notice Trinitite's cheeks darken through her makeup.

"I've got a man who needs another guy on his team, so you'll be filling their place for the first two hours." Dan spoke up, breaking into an even stroll after Trinitite had caught up. "They'll be bending rebar in building two for the majority of the day, getting the skeleton for the second floor's pillars today. It doesn't start as hard work, but I guarantee an arm workout."

"I can do that." Trinitite nodded. Rebar… the term was a little familiar, but she couldn't exactly recall what that stuff was. Had she heard it from an installation?

"We'll see. Three hours later, I'll turn you over to the electricians. It's more complex work, but I assume you'll be better built for it. Not as dangerous as it sounds, but a lot more technical. Just do everything Lee asks you to and you'll do fine. Those two supervisors will let me know how you did, and I'll find you after lunch. Either you stay on, or I give you sixty-five and wish you luck elsewhere. Sounds good?"

Trintite couldn't give him a salute while they were both walking, but she could nod.

"Aye-"

"Hey, boss!"

Dan abruptly stopped, his attention turning to another human. The dark-skinned human was jogging towards the pair, coming to a stop and pointing over his shoulder.

"Someone's been cutting corners at building three." He stated in a thick accent Trinitite couldn't hope to place. "Some of the shoring installed yesterday wasn't secured properly."

With a dramatic sigh, Dan looked down, tracing the edge of his helmet with his fingers.

"Okay, Elizabeth, I need you to go to building two, floor two. Ask for Austin Gomez, he'll be your immediate supervisor, got it?"

Trinitite nodded, repeating her commander's words. "Second floor, building two. Work for Austin Gomez."

"Good." Dan nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tear someone a new asshole."

The Foreman and the other human turned, walking back towards the reinforced pit. For a moment, Trinitite watched the backs of the two, pondering the human's last words. She wasn't entirely sure what he'd meant, but certainly didn't sound pleasant.

She banked to starboard, healing around to face the shorter of the two incomplete buildings. The promise of violence was unexpected, but to Trinitite the familiarity was oddly comforting. Some things never changed, did they?

Now she just had to figure out who this Gomez person was.

* * *

**First, an apology. I'm still getting used to , so I'll admit I'm not very good at replying to reviews. I'd like to thank you very much for the ones I've gotten so far, and I'll try my best to reply more to you guy's feedback.**

**This chapter fought me a bit, but I think it turned out better than I expected. I got to introduce the arc's antagonist, and get started actually writing work stuff. After doing so much research and still not knowing much about how work on a construction site is done, I think I've managed a pretty authentic feel so far. If anything's blatantly wrong, current or former construction workers who're reading this, please let me know. I'm more than willing to retcon mistakes if it means I have a stronger story once I'm done.**


	32. Introductions

He could have listened for a few more minutes.

It was Saturday, the end of the work week. Because of this, the worksite was a little slower to get into gear, its workers already showing fatigue from the week's labor. Alton passed an inspector, the man scanning a crane's motor with a gaze that seemed a little _too_ familiar. At the base of building 2's first flight of stairs, Alton passed a team of plumbers, the workers not even pretending to prepare for the day's work as they chatted amongst each other. Throughout the worksite, it seemed everyone's focus was on their plans for tomorrow. Not much was going to get done today, he suspected.

Unsurprisingly, his team wasn't any different.

"Like hell she is." Sern scoffed, the younger man shaking his head as he dismissed… whatever his coworker had said.

"I saw her in the office." Tirto replied, the older man's face lined with a knowing smile. "Girl was watching those training videos."

"So?" He replied with a sneer. "She's probably one of those liberal arts punks from Seattle." Sern acknowledged Alton's arrival with a nod, continuing. "I wouldn't trust her to put her own shoes on without training."

Suppressing the sudden urge to argue with Sern on that point (Some of his friends had managed to get a degree in that very broad category, and were the most practical people he'd known), Alton instead focused on what he'd heard earlier.

"Who is 'she?'"

Now that he thought about it, he'd overheard some others talking about some girl, as well. Then he'd dismissed it as talk about some celebrity, but Tirto's words showed there was much more to that.

"The boss is showing a new girl around." Tirto's accent had been incomprehensible a few months ago, but the man's english had improved dramatically since then. "Apparently she's going to be working here."

In his old job, Alton would have considered this kind of talk pointless, and a little sexist, but here?

Plenty of women worked in the industry, but in the eighteen months he'd only seen them as drivers and inspectors, stopping by the site for a few hours before leaving. Even if this new girl had the strength and endurance for the kind of work they saw on the jobsite, physical hurtals weren't normally the problem. Being the only woman around hundreds of overworked and lonely men? That was normally the problem.

"Who told you that?" Sern asked, turning his attention back to Tirto.

"It's all over the place." The older man replied. "Who have _you _talked to today?"

Sern's cheeks darkened.

"So? You know how rumors work. She could just be a reporter."

"Does it matter?" Alton couldn't stop himself from asking the question. There was a short pause, so Alton continued. "This is a massive construction project. Even if she's hired on, they'll have her operating some machinery or working with electricians, and you'll never see her."

He turned, glancing over the worksite. Even from this angle, far from the edge of building 2's unfinished second floor, Alton easily saw over a hundred people preparing for the day's work. That didn't include those at the base of building 3's foundation, those obscured by building 1, or the several dozen workers under their feet, preparing for their own tasks.

"You'll have a lot more luck at a bar, Sern." Alton added, wondering if he'd ever set foot in one. Despite his bluster in the crew, Sern was a shy kid, and barely knew anyone on the worksite. Maybe his friend group was larger in that MMO he occasionally mentioned, but Alton doubted he had the confidence to talk to any women yet. Or did he play a MOBA? He occasionally dusted off some adventure games from his childhood, but didn't have time to keep up with the modern jargon.

"Do you have anything else to talk about, then?" He snapped back. "What about last night's game, American?"

"You remembered?" Alton asked, genuinely surprised.

"The way Austin kept going on about it?" Sern replied, rolling his eyes as he referred to their manager. "I tried not to, really."

"Well, I missed it." Alton shrugged. He was more interested in the NCAA, and even then his team wasn't doing well. It's a bit hard to prepare for football season when your training center's an abyssal firebase. "Any news from the war?"

"I don't follow that stuff, man." Sern shook his head. "Too depressing."

"We've got enough to worry about here." Tirto added. "It's not like we can change how this war ends."

_That_ surprised Alton. Of everyone here, Tirto had the best reason follow the developments in the Pacific. Had he given up on news of his family? When Alton had first met him, his missing wife and kids had been all he could talk about. Even without that, didn't they know how important it was to keep your eyes on the war? Alton had to admit he'd been a bit of an armchair activist even before the war, but his habit of monitoring the world around him allowed him to pick up on the telltales signs things weren't developing in the Navy's favor, and thus get Mable out of there before anything worse happened. Granted, his co-workers hadn't had the same warning before they'd had to flee from the Abyssal's guns, but they had to know they couldn't just _ignore_ the war, right?

"...You know," Sern started, ending the silence that had descended between the three. "I _did_ see a headline yesterday. Apparently there was a battle in the… uh…" The younger man trailed off, his stare focused beyond Alton. "Huh." Alton turned, following the young man's gaze.

At first, Alton didn't understand what about the tall figure had Sern so distracted. Sure, he didn't recognize him, but given how many people worked here that wasn't particularly surprising. Then, the figure drew close enough for Alton's old eyes to realize he was looking at a _she_, and suddenly Sern's reaction made too much sense.

Too many people here needed to get out more.

In his defense, Alton didn't know many women taller than he was. It was hard to tell with her helmet, but she easily cleared six feet. That was fairly average, for a construction worker, but the rest of her certainly wasn't. A green and grey windbreaker, her high visibility vest, and relatively loose jeans obscured her form, but the woman's clothes didn't hide her figure enough to prevent the attention of half the men working here.

Speaking of his co-worker, Alton diverted his attention to Sern. He was keeping his mouth shut, at least, but his eyes remained glued to the newcomer. Perhaps a little teasing was in order.

"_Enjoying the view_?" he mumbled.

Suddenly aware of himself, the younger man coughed, diverting his gaze towards the concrete below. Alton allowed himself a small smile, catching Tirto's look of silent approval. Boys like that couldn't be blamed for looking, but Sern needed to learn how to hide his ogling.

When he'd first spotted the woman, her brisk pace had been directionless, her head darting this way and that as she took in the building around her. She was walking with a purpose, sure, but it didn't look like she knew what she was looking for. That had changed, however, as the tall woman abruptly changed direction, making a beeline for the three workers.

What was she doing up here? No, that wasn't the right question. Obviously she was looking for someone, but who? Had she gotten separated from the boss, or was she a reporter after all, and fishing for some poor schmuck to drag into an interview?

Well, he'd know soon enough. Once the woman had gotten within speaking distance, he piped up.

"Can I help you?"

* * *

Unfortunately, it was looking like all the attention Trinitite had been getting hadn't been because of Dan. Despite no longer being escorted by the site's Commander, She sure was attracting a lot of attention. No doubt a Re-class would bask in the gazes of so many people, but _she _wanted to keep a low profile. Was her disguise failing? That couldn't be, though, as Trinitite watched a few humans return to their jobs. Nobody was running for cover or calling for help, just… staring at her.

They… really didn't need to do that.

Come to think of it, why was every human she saw male? From various rumors and comments she'd picked up in her two years of service, she knew there were two different basic variations of humans: male, and female. She didn't have a clue as to _why_, but there must have been a pretty good reason, because the same was true for fish, birds, crabs, and almost everything that wasn't a ship like herself.

She'd heard Princesses refer to former or enemy commanders as 'him' or 'her,' and applying that practice seemed to help keep her from being too obvious. Still, while everywhere else she'd gone had about the same amount of women and men, Trinitite had yet to see any other females here.

Was she not supposed to be here? No, Dan would have prevented her from signing up otherwise. Her thoughts drifted back to the training video she'd seen. There were females in that, so it was obviously something Dan was expecting, so she wasn't doing anything wrong, right? Either way, she was drawing far too much attention for her liking. Would it be safer to find a different job?

An unbidden shiver shook her hull as she remembered _that _process. She'll have to do that again, once this was finished or she decided to relocate to observe another enemy installation, but Trinitite wasn't going to put herself through _that _again unless she had a damn good reason. The attention she was getting was far too mundane to push her back into that experience.

Building 2 stood before her, the half-formed skeleton of a structure she'd seen dotted all over the pacific. Let's see, she was supposed to look for Gomez at floor two. Given there only seemed to be two decks, the search shouldn't be that difficult. On the edge of the building, a temporary structure had been erected. Little more than an exposed staircase, it seemed to be what her fellow workers were using to reach the second floor, so she followed their example.

Ignoring the gaze of a human making their way down the temporary stairs, Trinitite let her rangefinders wander over the site as she climbed. The ships 'Friendly' Installations sent to set up structures at Bikini didn't like anyone snooping on their work, building with strict orders not to be bothered and under the protection of a smoke screen. To be honest, Trinitite and her sisters hadn't been particularly curious, and as a result, this process was a complete mystery to her. Judging by the swarm of humans milling about below her, it must have been quite a process indeed. Suddenly, Trinitite found herself regretting never launching a Hell Diver or two to see how a repair ship, a cruiser, and a handful of transports could build a magazine or drydock.

An elevator built into the side of Building 1 lurched upwards, a handful of workers watching the worksite as they started the steady journey up six decks. No, Dan had called them floors, hadn't he? She really needed to figure out all these different human terms. Was there some sort of list that showed all the special terminology that humans used?

Reaching the top of the stairs, Trinitite allowed herself to linger for a moment, watching another worker descend into the pit Dan had called 'Building 3.' Yesterday she'd spent half an hour watching the humans work, but Trinitite had been too focused on her despair to actually figure out what everyone was doing.

Now? Well, she was a little curious, but she certainly didn't have the time to stare. The Carrier turned, scanning the floor her supervisor was supposed to be on. Up here there were much fewer humans, around twenty divided into small task forces of three to five.

Trinitite plotted a course through the floor which should provide her with a good view of everyone. The training videos she'd watched didn't mention anything about identifying her commander, but there had to be _some_ kind of system. The abyssal quickly ruled out determining rank by a human's height or skin color. It was possible to estimate an Abyssal's age, and thus their experience, by looking at the color of their eyes. Then, she could look for the largest ship with the most experience, and odds were they would be in command.

Obviously, that wasn't going to work here, and because the training hadn't explained the uniform beyond 'PPE,' Trinitite had no idea how to decipher the differently colored vests and helmets she was seeing. The way Dan had explained things to her, the site's command structure had made sense, but now that she was out here, Trinitite had no idea how it would react to a crisis. Sure, this far into human territory they didn't have to worry about an enemy attack, but if those training videos had taught her anything, it was that there was almost a ridiculous amount of danger to humans around here.

Trinitite hated the idea of falling any distance, but she had a hard time thinking that some exposed rebar at the bottom would make anything worse. It was impossible to take the threat of some dull, flimsy steel rods seriously, but she needed to pretend she was, at least. That wouldn't be easy. How did humans hold themselves together around so much danger?

Her thoughts had sailed away from her. _Focus, Trin_.

Now, she needed to figure out the local commander's identity through intuition. Over her two years, Trinitite had been under the command of dozens of abyssals, and been a force's flagship plenty of times. By now she should be able to figure out a group's leader just by observing how they interacted.

Now, what kind of leader could Gomez be? He'd be easiest to find if he acted like an Abyssal Princess, although that didn't bode well for the rest of this job. Most Abyssal Princesses, and Flagships who mimicked them, did everything they could to show they were in charge: demanding shows of loyalty, berating their underlings for their failures, and venting their frustrations onto anyone around them. No one was doing any of that (or brooding in a corner), so Trinitite was fairly certain she wasn't dealing with _that_ kind of leader.

Trinitite dismissed the possibility Gomez could be anything like the rest of the Abyssal Princesses she'd worked with: She didn't have the best read on Dan, but he didn't seem the type to allow his commanders to withdraw into themselves, doing the bare minimum while focusing on… something. When a crisis truly started, the generally didn't step up, allowing their subordinates to take control and handle things for themselves. It was a little annoying, but she couldn't blame many of them, especially her Mother. If The Fire was half as bad as Mother said it was, Trinitite wouldn't wish it on _anyone_.

There were the mission-focused pragmatists, of course. Trin had served under a pretty cool Ta-class who'd been like that, a few times. She'd taught Trinitite that when an abyssal task force had mixed loyalties, each ship needed to know their leader cared more about getting mission objectives done instead of playing favorites. She tried to act like that when she was in command, but she didn't think she always succeeded. Hypocenter, of course, hadn't thought that worked at all, and had her own strategy for when she was in command…

Oh, who was she kidding! Trinitite didn't know the first thing about how Gomez ran his team. Sometimes she thought she was starting to understand humans, but they'd always go and do something that didn't make any sense to her. Even among abyssals, no two leaders had been alike, and considering how humans were? It had initially seemed a safe assumption to guess at how Gomez would run things, but now that she thought about it, the idea had been a little ridiculous. _Stupid, supid, Wo!_

That left her with one option: finding someone who didn't look too busy and asking. The thought had a sense of shame and embarrassment settling in her active boiler, but The Carrier didn't have any other options. She'd hoped to make a good impression by picking out the authority in the crowd and reporting to him, but now she had to practically announce to her new fleet that she was an idiot, too supid to get vital information beforehand. Damnit, this was supposed to be a low-profile job to ensure she was well-supplied, but with everyone trying to chip her paint off with their eyes and with Trinitite immediately letting all her fleet-mates know that she was unreliable, it was turning out to be a serious issue.

Picking the first group of three humans she saw, Trinitite adjusted her course to allow her to talk to them.

These humans wore similar uniforms, but even at a glance Trinitite knew she wouldn't have trouble telling them apart. The three men had sharply contrasting heights, skin colors, and skin textures, their builds unique enough that Trinitite would guess they were different classes of human. Whatever advantages their unique features provided, it was good to know Gomez kept his little task forces well-balanced.

They watched Trinitite's approach with the same interest The Carrier was starting to expect: Far too much. The tallest returned Trinitite's attention with the most intense stare, although the Abyssal couldn't recognize the emotions his coconut-brown features portrayed. To his left, a dark-skinned human's practiced eyes followed Trinitite with an ease that bordered on apathy, like the gaze one would use to watch distant sea birds, or patterns in waves. The human on the right, a man with rougher and lighter skin, leaned towards his taller compatriot, his mouth forming words Trinitite couldn't quite hear. The taller man stiffened, coughing and averting his gaze. What had that been about?

"Can I help you?"

The human on the right must have been the leader in this little group. Trinitite focused her attention on him, voicing a question she'd been silently repeating.

"Do you know where Austin Gomez is?"

Trinitite focused on the human, looking for any differences in his helmet or safety vest. There didn't seem to be anything special…

"Austin?"

The man looked to his colleagues, his expression mirroring Trinitite's question. Deep, she'd been wrong about him being some kind of leader, then.

"He's visiting storage." His short colleague replied in a thick accent. "After yesterday's circus, he's doing procurement himself."

"He'll be right back up, then." The lighter skinned man nodded. "What do you need him for?"

"I'm supposed to report to him." Trinitite answered. The two of them shared another look, but this time Trinitite recognized their expressions. It seemed the local rumor mill had taken special notice of her.

...but why, though? People joined the worksite all the time, right? Sure, she didn't see any human females around, but one joining couldn't be _that _special, right? Was she going to be attracting this much attention the entire time she was here? No, like any capital ship that joins a fleet, the novelty would eventually wear off.

Eventually.

Probably.

Suddenly, Trinitite had a newfound sympathy for submarines. No wonder they were so strange, if attention was so dangerous to them. Then, Trinitite vowed that the next one she met, friend or foe, would get a salute.

"Well, if you're going to be working here, might as well know your coworkers." The lighter-skinned human replied, extending a gloved hand. "I'm Alton."

She was starting to get used to the process of handshaking, so as Trinitite accepted the man's extended hand without much thought. Everyone she'd shook hands with so far had applied some pressure in the shake, and although they hadn't commented on her loose response, she was starting to feel she wasn't doing something right without squeezing a little. This time, The Confident Carrier applied some pressure on her own.

"I'm-" The human flinched, and Trinitite hurriedly loosened her grip. "Uh, Elizabeth. Sorry."

There _had _to be some kind of sweet spot. How could Trinitite practice?

"No problem." The human replied, returning a smile even Trinitite could tell had been forced. "You got a pretty strong grip, there."

Oh, _deep_.

Her teeth dug into her lip, desperately trying to find an excuse for the squeeze.

"Well-

"You see_-_

"I, uh..."

No, this wasn't working. Every excuse she could think of would have her sink even deeper!

"Hey, it's fine!" Alton cut Trinitite off, shaking his hand and looking to his coworkers.

"Sorry." Trinitite repeated. Eager to move on, she followed the human's attention to his comrades.

"Tirto." The shorter one spoke up, extending his hand. _Carefully_, Trinitite took it, her hand rigid to ensure she didn't accidentally crush his, as well.

"It's-" Trinitite started. How did humans greet each other? "It's good meeting you."

The man smiled as he released the handshake. His dark skin reflected the light oddly, a web of thick lines adding a texture that Trinitite hadn't seen on an abyssal. What were those? Was he the victim of a very strange accident, or did the odd skin provide some advantage? She'd seen some other humans with a similar skin tone, but they didn't have the same texture. Come to think of it, Elizabeth's face had a somewhat similar look around the eyes, didn't it?

Another question for later. Trinitite turned her attention to the third and tallest one. Even without her rigging, the Aircraft Carrier towered over most people she met, but with the third person they met eye to eye.

"Uh-" The third man started, stumbling over his own words. Good to know _she _wasn't the only one making this awkward. "The name's Sern. Sern Yau." He stumbled. Seeing that Trinitite had extended her own hand before he did, he hurried to catch it, giving the abyssal a jerky handshake. "It's Malasian."

...Okay? Trinitite checked her mental chart of the pacific, trying to remember where Malasia was. She knew of a _Malaya_, which was pretty firmly under abyssal control, but lots of completely different places had similar names, so who knew if that's what he was talking about?

"I see." Trinitite responded, unsure exactly where to take the conversation. "You from there?"

"Yeah." Sern nodded.

A second passed.

"So" Alton broke the silence, "you'll be working with us?"

"For a few hours." Trinitite clarified. "Dan's shifting me around so he can figure out what I'm good at."

"Well, it's good to have another pair of hands again." Tirto added. "One of our people quit last week, and since Austin has other responsibilities, our team's undermanned. He'll probably assign you with us."

"Well, I won't slow you down!" Trinitite promised, straightening to attention. "Just let me know what to do!"

Hopefully that didn't sound _too _desperate. She hadn't made the best impression so far, but while she only depended on the opinions of her superiors, she certainly didn't want to make any enemies.

Well, she didn't want to make anyone more of an enemy then they already _were_.

"Just don't break anything, and you'll do better than half the folks here." Alton commented. Trinitite _thought_ he was joking, but with humans?

Who knew?

* * *

**And this is out! I originally planned on introducing Austin and having the team start work this chapter, but I guess it's generally better to meter out character introductions so a reader can process them easier. Like a lot of others, this chapter fought me a lot, but I think I'm getting better at bashing my way through writer's block, so it's nice to be reporting progress on that front. **

**A word of warning, dialog is not my strong suit, so if anything about it felt odd, please let me know. Don't hold back on anything, of course. I _am _trying to improve, after all.**

**Anyways, I promised 'yall a map, so I should get back to work on that. Next chapter will be an interlude, dealing with a bit of political fallout from this situation. I don't think I can post media here, but I won't tell you to run down to SB or SV to check it out yet because I'd need to get a lot of worldbuilding done first.**

**There's a phrase that I've heard attributed to a Chinese Curse: _May you live in interesting times_. Well, it seems like everyone's pretty cursed right now, and since the author's notes for a fanfiction are no place for a political opinion I won't give any, I'd just like to say that I hope all of you are safe at the moment.**


	33. Columns

After the human's probable joke, conversation between the four floundered.

Noticing it had lost steam, Alton turned to the half-built structure they'd been standing on, inspecting where bits of short wire held several steel rods in a loose cage. Trinitite was going to follow him, to see what kind of work she was going to be doing, but a voice behind her drew her attention.

"So, Elizabeth." Tirto asked, waiting for Trinitite to turn before continuing. "Where are you from?"

Thankfully, she'd expected this question, and by now her response came almost automatically.

"I'm from the Marshals." She replied. "You?"

A split-second after the question left her mouth, Trinitite realized her mistake. She shouldn't have said that last part if she wanted to stay low, but for a ship who'd commanded multi-fleet task forces, the casual follow up had just come just as automatically as her answer.

"Wonosobo." The man replied. Possibly anticipating Trinitite's unrecognition, he clarified. "It's in Indonesia."

"I see." She lied.

It was a little frustrating, as she did recognize the name, but couldn't tie it to anywhere in the Pacific. Deflecting attention, Trinitite turned her attention to the taller one, Sern.

He didn't say anything. Trinitite looked back to Tirto, seeing he'd been expecting a response from his colleague as well, but none had come. For a split second too long, the silence lingered.

"Oh. I'm from Malaysia." He belatedly stammered.

"I see." She repeated. That sounded an _awful lot_ like Malaya. Abyssals like her got their names for locations from Princesses, who'd in turn gotten them from humans, so why were they so different? She knew from experience that communications degraded over time, but something as important as a name couldn't have changed that much, right?

That wasn't immediately important, though. Sern had been talking plenty as she approached, but now that the Abyssal was here he only spoke in short, clipped sentences. Was he nervous? Guilty?

Suspicious?

Suddenly, Sern's eyes focused, his attention drawn towards the floor's entrance.

"There he is."

Following Sern's gaze, Trinitite turned, getting her first look at her new Commander.

Austin Gomez arrived in a group, but Trinitite had no problem picking out the small team's leader. The human made a beeline for Trinitite, carrying several instruments she didn't recognize as the workers following him spread out.

"You the new girl?"

"Reporting as ordered." Trinitite replied, snapping an instinctual salute. Only after her hand touched the rim of her helmet did she realize her mistake, but if Austin cared about that he didn't show it.

"Good." He replied. Directing his attention towards her other group members, Austin continued. "I've talked to Dan, and it looks like we have two hours to get work out of you."

Austin grunted, his armful of tools rattling as he set them down. Picking up a set of steel rods connected by a collection of gears and bolts, Austin held it in easy view of the abyssal. "Know what this is?"

Recognizing the rhetorical question, Trinitite shook her head.

"No."

Austin changed his focus to Trinitite's coworkers. "Rebar Bender. Alton will show you how to use it. You two get started on Column Eighteen, while Tirto and Penang will finish Column Fourteen. Got it?"

"Aye." Trinitite acknowledged. Everyone else around her just nodded, however, which seemed to be sufficient for her commander.

"Good. I have something else to deal with." His gaze settled back on Trinitite, suddenly hardening. "Just remember this: You're working in the United States."

...Okay? Trinitite nodded, and her commander continued.

"That means you measure in _Inches…_" He stressed the word, suddenly raising his voice in a manner all-too-familiar to the abyssal. "...and _feet_. We're not building a mars rover, but screwing up metric and imperial will fuck us up just as badly, _Capeesh_?"

...There was a lot to unpack there ('Mars Rover' was hastily added to her log to ensure she would look it up later), but Trinitite didn't have time to figure out what that last word meant. Obviously this was an issue Austin had grappled with before, but it seemed like a bit of an odd problem to have. She knew some other fleets measured distances in meters instead of yards, but it had never seemed all that important.

"Measure in inches, got it."

In response, he nodded, but Trinitite could tell the Human wanted to lay the point in a little more.

"If you can't adjust to the imperial system, there's plenty of people out there who can." He said, waving his arm over the distant city, before turning to leave. "She's all yours, Alton."

With that, Trinitite's leader left, his voice calming as he started conversing with another group of workers.

"They must have given him a pretty bad time at the toolshed." Alton remarked, shaking his head. "I don't know why we keep Cook around." He straightened, rolling his shoulders and bending down to grab the remaining tools on the ground. Penang and Tirto had already secured half of the collection, getting to work on the pillar next to them as Austin introduced himself. "Well, we're on the clock. Grab that and we'll get started."

Seeing Alton had gathered everything besides the rebar bender, Trinitite reached down and grabbed the tool. It was… remarkably light, and even with almost no effort Trinitite straightened far quicker than expected. Was some of this aluminum?

Alton stopped at another incomplete pillar, this one little more than collection of evenly spaced steel rods protruding from the concrete. From its location near the center of the floor, Trinitite couldn't get a good look at the rest of the construction site, but if she positioned herself correctly she'd have a great view of the work being done on the rest of the building.

Not that she'd have time to watch.

"Alright." Alton started, observing the steel bars in front of him. "We're going to need some number three rebar. We've got a lot of precut stuff stationed near the stairs, there." He pointed towards what Trinitite assumed to be some kind of depot, a collection of material protected from the elements by some white material. "Grab as much as you can safely carry. Don't worry about getting everything we need, and make sure you grab the rebar we've cut to four-feet eight-inches."

"Understood." She pivoted, allowing Alton to sort out the collection of tools he'd brought as she set a course for the stockpile he'd mentioned. The depot, located near the entrance to the floor, contained several wooden pallets. Material of some kind rested on the collection of pallets, but the white material that covered them hid the nature of the supplies. As she approached, she watched another human throw a corner of the white sheet back over one of the deposits of supplies, walking back to his own work with a collection of steel bars resting on his shoulder.

That must be the number three rebar Alton was talking about. An abyssal built for surface action probably would have the optics to determine how many the worker was carrying, but Trinitite couldn't quite make out enough detail to distinguish the individual bars from each other. Was that fifteen, or twenty?

Trinitite didn't have much issue visually spotting aircraft, but with the light as it was she couldn't get a good estimate. A shame, too, because the amount of rebar she brought back was pretty important. Too much, and the difference in strength between humans and herself would be too obvious. Too little, and she'd lose the respect she was trying to gain with her fleetmates. Emotionally she didn't care much for their opinions, but given how badly the Diego Garcia convoy got and how dangerous this work site was, she knew that was vital.

Checking the labeling on the cover to ensure she was indeed bringing Alton number three rebar, Trinitite brushed the slick material aside and slid a length of rebar from the collection. Idly, she hoisted the bar, examining its surface and hefting the steel rod to gauge its weight. The corkscrew outset, presumably to ensure it bound with the concrete, made it roll in Trinitite's hands, but otherwise it seemed pretty mundane. She couldn't get a good feel for the steel's quality without bending and biting into it, but it didn't seem particularly high-grade.

Suddenly, the abyssal had to swallow. Sure, she'd had plenty of food in her holds, including a recent meal with some pretty high-grade aluminum, but this was _steel_, the stuff that put plating between your ribs! Sure, much like fuel, she could get necessary supplies through the consumption of meats and plants, but when you needed material?

Nothing hit the spot like the _real_ stuff.

But she couldn't enjoy herself. No one was eating on the job right now, and sneaking a free meal from your commander's supplies was asking for a sinking. If she breached Dan's trust that badly, it wouldn't be a surprise if he warned others not to hire her.

It wasn't like she could fix much of her remaining damage without yard time, anyways.

Thus, Trinitite stood with just enough rebar to comfortably fit on her shoulder, trying to think of anything except the taste of the steel.

* * *

"Is this enough?"

Maybe it was because of the earlier handshake, but Alton couldn't shake the impression that Elizabeth hardly noticed the bundle of steel resting on her shoulder.

"Enough for now. Set it down here and we'll get started."

He wasn't entirely sure what to think of the new girl. While Alton walked Elizabeth through the use of the rebar bender, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Elizabeth seemed eager to learn, and took it well when Alton critiqued her developing technique, but no matter what he couldn't get that handshake out of his mind. Sure, she'd been friendly until that point, and she'd been apologetic to a fault afterwards, but there was no way somebody would squeeze that hard _accidentally_.

Had that been some kind of power play, a show of force to ensure she didn't get pushed around on the jobsite? No, that didn't make much sense, because there were much easier ways to show your strength, without causing an uproar and alienating a coworker.

Such as pulling her weight, which she was certainly doing.

"Up." Alton commanded, feeling the rebar shift slightly as Elizabeth obeyed. Alton hadn't been keeping track of the time, but the rebar cage seemed to be forming rather quickly.

"A little more." he added, keeping his eyes on the level he was holding on top of the bar. The bubble shifted.

"More… That's good." He reported, making a twirling motion with his free hand. "Tie it up!"

Elizabeth wasn't as good at this part. Her custom gloves allowed a lot of movement, but she still fumbled the short span of wire twice before finally wrapping it around the rebar, giving it a twist to secure it to the incomplete pillar.

Her strength was one thing, but Alton noted her endurance as well. After ensuring the rebar was secured to the pillar, she immediately turned, scooping up the measuring tape and the last rod she'd brought to mark out six inches for the bender. Operating the rebar bender wasn't a particularly strenuous task, but the way she pulled the bender's lever was as effortless as it had been her second or third time using the tool. Normally the workers switched to ensure neither of them tired out as quickly, but Alton hadn't noticed _any_ fatigue in the new girl.

What did they feed her?

"Okay, we'll get this one installed, and I'll head back with you to grab the rest of the rebar we'll need."

Once that was done, Alton returned with her to the much-diminished palate of supplies. With everyone busy at their own jobs, the pair passed without notice, allowing Alton to get a higher-level view of the project. Tirto and Penang didn't notice their passing, busy on their own pillar, but as some of the only people he actually _knew _on site he gave their work extra attention. The pair were less ahead of Alton than he'd expected. Not only did Alton have to teach his partner everything from scratch, but the cage they were working on had been started the previous day. Now, they almost seemed even.

Elizabeth was catching on quick, but they couldn't be working that quickly, could they? The last hour or so replayed in Alton's head, the Man trying to remember if they were forgetting anything important. It hadn't seemed like they were working particularly quickly, but things hadn't slowed much after they'd gotten started.

They were at the supplies now. Waving Elizabeth on, Alton took a swig of his water bottle, allowing him to get a good look at the new girl's technique. Bending at the knees, she knelt down to the rebar, scooping up the rebar and hefting it over her shoulder like it was foam, or dry bamboo. She hadn't tired out at all, had she?

What the hell did that mean?

* * *

She had expected her story to get questioned a bit more, but once Alton and Trinitite got into their work, conversation narrowed to the task at hand. In some ways, that reminded her of conducting anti-submarine warfare with her sisters and screen, minus the danger, tension, and any connection with who she was working with.

They were similar insomuch as there was plenty of boredom, though. One can only tie so many metal bars together before one's thoughts start to wander, and with the majority of the work on-site obscured by the floor they were on, Trinitite started to think more abstractly.

For example, what could she do with one hundred and fifty dollars?

Unfortunately, the manifest Trinitite's quartermaster had drawn up of the Warehouse Raid's spoils was missing a dollar value, but during her job hunt she'd gotten a glimpse of the value of several other items. Then, she'd been a little too focused on other matters to pay mind to specific prices, but she could remember a few values.

For example, Ineng's market had set cups of ice cream at the price of eight dollars. Trinitite wasn't sure what kind of value humans placed on the precious substance, but to her?

Nothing beat Mother's Ice Cream. A reward for a job well done, a gallon of the frozen goodness could keep in her freezer for as long as she needed, allowing her to steal a bite whenever she needed encouragement, a reminder of a job well done, or when the last bite of ice cream had finally melted. A small amount could bring minutes of enjoyment, as the pleasant chill it brought slowly gave way to sweet cream. It was an experience unmatched by anything above or below the water, and _deep_, Trinitite missed it dearly. The fact that she might never be rewarded like that again-

No.

The Carrier forced herself to focus on her work, swinging the rebar bender's lever with a _little _more effort than was necessary. Sure, what was once the Abyssal Jellyfish Princess had left Bikini with The Enemy, but she'd clearly recognized a ship from before their betrayal with the fire. She'd have to recognize Trinitite as well, right?

Surely she could use that somehow. Trinitite would have to covertly isolate Her Princess beforehand, but in a prow-to-prow meeting Trinitite was _sure _she could get her to see reason. The humans _had _abandoned her to The Fire, after all, and Trinitite hadn't. It was that simple.

If her Mother gave ice cream to a ship who'd completed a patrol, imagine what kind of award Trinitite would get for returning her to her senses _and _rescuing her from The Enemy! She wouldn't have enough space in her freezers to hold all that delicious ice cream! It was a bit unorthodox, but maybe she'd have enough storage space if Her Princess allowed her to split it with her Sisters when they came back.

_If_.

_If_ they came back. That hadn't been true for many destroyers and that Ho-class Trinitite had lost on expedition. Maybe the Abyss had seen fit to give them to another fleet, or they'd been… _left… _down there. The ocean was a large place, and a lot of Abyssal Fleets didn't have good communications with each other. So it was possible they had returned to the surface under the service of a Princess in the Medeteranian sea or Arctic Ocean, but it also was possible they hadn't returned at all, and nobody really knew which was true.

If those Destroyers had managed to sink Trinitite, she might not have been the end for her, but it _certainly _would have meant the last chance at saving Her Princess would have been lost. If she had returned knowing she'd squandered that opportunity, she wasn't sure if she could live with herself.

Come to think of it, The humans clearly knew more about how beings like Her Princess and her worked than she did. What if Trinitite couldn't reverse Her Princesses's transformation? What if her former princess refused to listen to her, only giving Trinitite a volley of five-inch shellfire? Or what if she did succeed, only for the humans to surround her and twist her Mother back into the ship they wanted?

"You're done?"

Trinitite jumped, whirling to get a look at the voice behind her. Austin's unimpressed visage stared back at her, and the Abyssal Carrier suddenly remembered what she'd been doing.

"With the cage in Column Eighteen." Alton clarified, unimpressed by Trinitite's startled reaction. "Did you finish?"

"Yeah, it's finished." Alton piped up, nodding to where they'd been working previously. "She caught on pretty quickly."

"Huh." Austin replied, turning to analyze the completed pillar. "Good job."

Was he… _complimenting her_? Despite the embarrassment of being surprised, the Carrier was a bit thankful for her new Commander's interruption. Her thoughts had been sailing a course far too dark for her liking, anyways.

The last thing she'd been expecting, however, was a _compliment_. She tied some metal together, and judging by how many times she'd fumbled the wire she was supposed to be using, she'd done it pretty slowly. Hardly a task worth praise, compared to guiding some vital supplies home, beating a submarine off of a convoy, or carrying your badly damaged sister home.

Maybe she was overthinking things. Austin hadn't even been looking at her when he'd said that. Were compliments that much cheaper among humans?

"Liking your job so far?" He turned, staring directly at Trinitite.

"Yeah." She replied. There wasn't much to say about what she was doing, but Trinitite certainly liked the one hundred and fifty dollars they said she'd get once the day was up. Did anyone ever say no to that question?

"Heh." He chuckled, his look skeptical. "That'll make you a first. It's honest work, but it takes a special kind of person to enjoy this. Carry on." Nodding to Alton, Trinitite's Commander turned, leaving to check up on the next team.

She wasn't sure how, but Trinitite couldn't shake the feeling she could have handled that encounter better. She turned, scooping another length of rebar and feeding it into the bender. Here, it didn't really matter if she could speak well. She just needed to work, take her money at the end of the day, and keep her mouth shut.

* * *

**Yeah, I know the Mars Climate Orbiter was a probe, not a rover, but I don't think that's a distinction Trinitite's supervisor would care about.**

**On a similar note, I'm sorry for naming one character Austin, and one character Alton. I thought those two names were both different enough for this arc's two most prominent american characters, but I'm starting to regret it. That's what a random name generator will get ya, I guess.**

**Anyways, this chapter really fought me at the beginning, but it definitely started to build up steam near the end. I had to change my thinking a bit, shifting away from my 'show don't tell' philosophy of writing a story as a series of scenes, and go for a more montage style to skip over Trinitite's work faster. People aren't reading this to know how a construction site works, after all, and I feel going for this style allows me to focus more on characters. Plus, while I research as much as I can, this means fewer opportunities for my research failures to damage the story. Please let me know if this works for you, although I'll probably be migrating back to a more scene-based narrative as soon as I can anyways.**


	34. Interlude: Situation Room

"...That's the situation at the moment."

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff finished, his voice grim. Silence descended upon the Situation Room, the General returning his audience's stares as he waited for questions.

...and there _would _be questions. The Chairman's report had been brief, skipping to the painful point of the meeting to underscore its importance while avoiding the impression of any political weaseling. Perhaps because of that, seconds passed as the National Security Council grappled with the new information.

To The President, it felt like he was witnessing a train accident. Once again, he was safe in The Situation Room, forced to watch _another_ catastrophe unfold in painfully slow motion.

If he was lucky, he was _only_ facing another political shitstorm. After the French Battleship Princess collapsed half of La Palma in a controlled detonation, the American East coast found it had little time to prepare for an indomitable tsunami. The President had been forced to endure several pained hours of anticipation, watching in horror as evacuations stalled and the military tried its best to prepare for the inevitable onslaught that would follow.

The resulting damage hadn't held a candle to the hastily-drawn worst case scenarios The President had been given, and the Abyssal bases between La Palma and the US had taken enough of a lashing to shatter the fragile web of alliances that kept the monsters in the region coordinated, but that had come as little comfort. Cities flooded, and then burned, as Abyssal Aircraft strafed rooftops cluttered with survivors and carpeted crowded highways with small bombs. Ports, drydocks, and industries vital to the war effort were devastated, with production on several new ships set back by months and others damaged far beyond recovery.

National Guard units that would normally assist in disaster relief instead prepared to repel invasions, bogging down in infrastructure damaged by the tidal wave and clogged with refugees. The Navy, with hardly enough shipgirls in The Atlantic to count on both hands, was forced to abandon their harbors, flushed into pitched battles with Abyssals they were never designed to fight.

All of this recorded, broadcasted, and live streamed over the internet, until the horror of the attack had been hammered into the American subconscious. No one cared that the evacuation had succeeded the government's expectations, that the Tsunami's destructive power had been tempered by a rookie demolition job on La Palma and the wall of barrier islands that protected the East Coast's ports. No one cared that the Abyssal tide that had crashed upon America's shores had almost immediately dissolved into infighting once they'd discovered the fate of their own bases, or that such an attack simply _couldn't happen again_.

Americans focused on the horrific video of a car-laden bridge collapsing as Abyssal Fighters riddled it with rockets. The footage of a guided missile destroyer exploding offshore, sparkling as firelight reflected off the chaff it had launched to throw off the enemy's targeting. The hundreds of images of the corpses of sailors, pilots, and civilians washing ashore months after the fighting had ended.

The news that dozens of lost museum ships had immediately returned to repel the invaders was one of the few things that kept the nation's will from breaking entirely. Slowly at first, the nation recovered, shock transforming into anger. Both at the Abyssals who'd perpetrated such an atrocity, and at the government who'd allowed it to happen.

One way or another, heads were going to roll. Pundits demanded why such a possibility hadn't been considered by the Pentagon. The Senate called a hearing as voices demanded the resignation of everyone responsible for the military failings during the La Palma attacks.

Regretfully, now, the President had been one of them. As a result, the Pentagon's top brass was gutted, a purge with the intent of replacing the old set of Admirals and Generals with new blood. Controversies from across the 2010s were brought back into the limelight as the hearings dissolved into a hysterical witch hunt, and by the time the dust had settled, the United States Navy's high command had almost been entirely replaced.

The new brand of officers were said to be exactly what the States needed: Proven warriors who'd failed to get positions in the pentagon due to a lack of political interest, acumen, or connections. In a bad science fiction novel, this would have been a great idea, purging the organization of useless bureaucrats and replacing them with officers who knew how the _real _world worked. Now? It had come back to bite The President in the ass.

Admiral MacKey had been one of these new commanders, a man who'd proved he could fight Abyssals in the Mediteranian and had a public disdain for 'office squabbles'. All well and good for someone in the CIC of a Supercarrier, but for someone in a volatile situation like the current one?

The image of someone ignorantly pouring water on a grease fire came to mind.

MacKay had wanted to keep the number of involved people as small as possible to limit the chance of information leaking and causing a panic. The President could _almost _see his point. Still, homeland security was not the Navy's job, for more reasons he could count. If news got out that they were not only half-assing the search for Cassion by limiting themselves to unqualified intelligence analysis and a _fucking private detective_, but they'd also done so by going around the nation's actual qualified experts?

Things wouldn't stop at a few admirals. Never mind the fact they'd called for the same thing, The Opposition would take this as a prime opportunity to oust The President, _and they'd have a point_. On top of that, with midterms elections only two months away...

He had few friends in his own party, but the last thing the nation needed in the war was another deadlock between the house and senate. When going had initially gotten tough, The President and The Opposition had no problem working together to get the US on war footing, but no matter how much they shook hands in public, the effects of prewar politics couldn't be ignored. He wouldn't be surprised if some of their radical elements thought him worse than the Abyssals.

On top of that, all of this was only if the loose Abyssal sat on her hands until they stumbled upon her.

If he was unlucky?

The President was a delegator. He'd never admit it, but he knew his strategic knowledge was atrophied and untempered by experience. The war, for the most part, was run by the Department of Defense, while The President focused on keeping the economy together and not giving his enemies too much to work with.

Still, the scenario was all too easy to imagine. A group of hikers in Northern Washington disappear. Then, reports of abyssal aircraft emerge in Northern Idaho. A dam is bombed by aircraft that seem to come out of nowhere, and by the time the military responds, the ghost carrier has disappeared back into the population. Terror spreads as sightings are reported in Montana, Wyoming, then Colorado. Bridges, oil refineries, power plants, it rapidly becomes clear that nowhere is safe from the Abyssal scourge anymore. Morale begins to falter as people realize the threat is no longer contained, and the economy begins to fall apart.

This monster could do more damage to the United States then That Bitch at La Palma ever dreamed of.

"You said ONI has a theory on Cassion's objective." The Secretary of Defense asked, interrupting The President's gloomy predictions. He must have been briefed by Admiral MacKey as well, as he had clearly been waiting for the news to sink in before he spoke up. "Could you expand on that?"

"Right. She's been identified as Wo-E6, nicknamed 'Cassion' by our submariners. She's a bootleg version of our latewar Long-hulled Essexes, under the service of the Jellyfish Princess until the battle of Bikini."

"Saratoga." The Director of National Intelligence supplied. A stranger wouldn't find his response unsettling, but the way his fingers drummed the table betrayed his less-than-stellar mood. "She's been attached to the JMSDF for training."

"Correct. ONI believes Cassion's objective in… _infiltrating_ CONUS was to locate her former Princess. We don't know what she'll do if she accomplished this, though."

"Then call her back." The President suggested. "Give the Japanese another one of our Carriers so we can use her as bait."

He had to admit, he didn't have the highest opinion of these 'redeemed' shipgirls. No matter how sincere they were, and nobody knew their unnatural nature enough to be sure, they'd proven vulnerable to subversion by the Abyss once. Who could say it wouldn't happen again?

"Impossible." The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs replied. "The Japanese made it very clear they wanted Saratoga for a year if they were going to help retrieve her at Bikini. Through an operational failure, their force came into contact with the Abyssal fleet long before our task force did, so they're going to see her as a very well-earned prize." He shook his head, tabbing back through the slideshow they'd endured. "It'll be suspicious, even if they don't take it as an insult."

Damnit. How was his government so good at making _everything _complicated?

"Who has access to this intelligence?" The National Security Advisor asked, glancing at the icy visage of the Secretary of Homeland Security.

The Charmain, somewhat puzzled, checked the slideshow's header. "It's… annotated as CANUKUS." The General looked back at the National Security Advisor, knowing he'd only been asked a rhetorical question.

"So…" The National Security advisor continued, "…we've informed the _British Admiralty_, and no one has let the FBI know about this?"

"Mackay's made a huge mistake, here." The President cut off the Chairman's response. "He had his reasons, I'm sure, but nobody in this room is going to debate them. Clair."

The Secretary of Homeland Security straightened, focusing on The President.

"Yes?"

"Get a team on this." The President ordered. "I'd prefer a public manhunt, but the Admiral had a point about panic. Can you do this covertly?"

"It will be slow and difficult." She admitted. "This Abyssal doesn't have any old contacts, bank accounts, or electronics. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way, I think." She shook her head. "I'll get some good people on it, Mister President. You won't have to worry for too long."

"I hope so." The President concluded. Silence descended on the situation room again. Since no one had anything else to add, he changed the subject. The Secretary of Defense straightened as The President addressed him. "Any news on the hind crash in Alaska? I have a call with the Russian President coming up, and I want to get him the latest update on our search efforts."

Now, back to his job. Best to focus on something he had control over, while the professionals got this mess sorted out.

* * *

**A bit of a short one, mostly because I didn't want to recycle a briefing. Also got it out pretty quickly because I'm not particularly worried about the characterization of the people here.**

**This interlude was supposed to come out before last chapter, but I delayed it due to current events. Now that the dust has settled a bit and I've finished it, it doesn't feel as controversial as I thought it would be, but I'd like to talk about that for a moment:**

**I tried my best to write this without injecting my own commentary on current politics. Hopefully, you didn't get any feeling of my own political views reading this, let alone the view I was trying to push them on you. I don't know about you, but whether I'm looking at media from Tom Kratman or James Cameron, I _hate _getting preached at, and this story isn't about contemporary politics, it's about Trinitite. Hopefully, I managed to avoid that, although I'm fairly confident that I did.**

**On a much brighter note, thank you to RDFox for some last minute information that I referenced here.**


	35. Wiring

It was looking like another day of dismal weather. Alton wasn't entirely sure what the residents of this area had done to warrant unending overcast and drizzle, but he was certain it must have been an unspeakably terrible atrocity. He wasn't sure why anyone would live somewhere with so little sunlight, and if the rumor about this place's suicide statistics was true, then he guessed many people _couldn't_. Mable's decision to move in with her parents while Alton was hiding in Oahu's jungle made _financial _sense, but now that they were renting a house he was seriously regretting not looking elsewhere.

San Diego couldn't be _that _much more expensive, could it? If that didn't work out, real estate was probably _really_ cheap in Florida now.

He shuttered, the image of glowing eyes in the jungle overtaking him for a moment. Anywhere on the East Coast was _way _too close to trouble.

"Up?" Elizabeth questioned, interrupting Alton's thoughts. He focused back on the level he'd been steadying.

"Nah, this one's good." He reported. Without further prompting, the new girl twisted the wire around the bar, securing it with a now-familiar ease. Once some light prodding proved the rebar was secured she scooped another bar up, threading it into the bender while Alton stole a swig from his water bottle.

Again, Elizabeth operated the bender with ease, pulling the lever down with her arm strength alone. The mystery behind her endurance still burned in the back of Alton's mind, but in the hours they'd worked the novelty had worn off somewhat.

He lowered his water bottle, unobscuring the form of his supervisor. Austin approached, giving Alton a nod as Elizabeth finished with the other end of the rebar. Oblivious, she turned back to Alton, offering an end of the rebar, but he instead focused on the Supervisor closing behind her. He wasn't making any attempts to conceal his approach, but it seemed Elizabeth was too absorbed in her work to notice. An urge to point out the Woman's (lack of) awareness rose, but his boss spoke first.

"Everything going well?"

To her credit, Elizabeth didn't jump this time.

"Oh! Yeah, we've made a lot of progress." She turned, looking back at the steel skeleton they'd been assembling. "I think."

"You have." Austin confirmed. "However, it's almost Ten, which means I've got to turn you over to Lee." He made a show of checking his watch. "He's on the floor below us, with all the folks wearing blue helmets. They stick together, so just say you're the fresh meat Dan mentioned and they'll point you to Lee Newman, got it?"

"Aye-aye!" She replied, snapping another salute. Alton quietly added 'random salutes' to the list of downright _surreal_ things surrounding the newcomer. Unfortunately, She was gonna get swept up by The Electricians, and he'd never have a chance to fish for answers. "Look for Lee, one of the blue helmets."

Maybe that was a good thing. Generally it was Alton's policy to keep his nose out of other people's business, but if he had to spend so much time with someone so mysterious he knew his curiosity would get the better of him.

"That's right." Austin confirmed. "Have a good day."

"Uh…" She hesitantly replied. "...you too!"

A second passed.

"Well? You've only got three minutes to get down there."

"Ah!" Comprehension dawned on the woman's face, and she turned. Setting a pace just below running, she left, shouting a haisty "_Sorry!_"

Once the newcomer was suitably out of earshot, Alton's Supervisor turned to face him, his face serious.

"How'd she do?" Austin asked, his voice low.

"Pretty good." Alton replied, before reconsidering the statement. "_Really_ good. I don't know how Dan found a terminator, let alone _hired_ one. I've never seen someone with so much endurance."

Austin chuckled, slapping Alton on the back. "It's called being young, Alton. You'll understand when you and Mable have kids."

Alton faked a chuckle in response. Elizabeth's endurance was _clearly _more than just being young and spry, but that wasn't a point he was going to argue.

"Anyways, you two got a lot more done than I expected, so I'll put a good word in for her with Dan. Help out Tirto and Sern in the meantime."

He nodded, hefting the remaining rebar they'd brought.

"Got it."

He'd originally been working with Sern, but once Tirto's partner stopped coming in the older man had been added to their work crew. They worked together well enough, but in the specific task of building rebar cages the third person found themselves with a lot of free time. It looked like Austin was trying to split their little group up again, a sentiment Alton could certainly agree with. It meant the process would be less convenient for him, but ultimately it also meant they'd get this job done faster.

Tirto and Sern had just gotten started on another column, the pair hunched near the ground as they leveled a rebar brace. With their backs turned, Alton thought his approach came unnoticed, but Tirto spoke up as he approached.

"Back already?"

"'Already?'" Alton echoed, laying the leftover rebar next to their stockpile and feeding a length into the bender. "It's been two hours."

"Tie it up." Tirto commanded, and after Sern's acknowledgement he continued. "Didn't feel like it. It's a lot more work with only two people."

"Of course it is." Sern added, before changing the subject. "You and the new girl got a lot done, didn't you?"

"Sure." Alton replied noncommittally, throwing his weight into the bender. The lever fell with little effort, but he still couldn't see how Elizabeth had made it look _so easy_.

"What's she like?"

Sern's question was tentative, hopeful. Alton stood, suppressing a sigh.

"She can bend rebar, Sern."

He _knew _this topic was going to come up. Unlike a lot of refugees, Sern didn't have any issue talking about his life before the Abyssals drove him to Washington. The kid had a pretty sheltered life, almost never leaving his hometown. Between School Studies and his hobbies, it was clear Sern had never found time for romance in his life, and living in a stuffy all-mens barracks clearly wasn't helping things. Alton would be very surprised if Elizabeth hadn't been on his mind for the majority of the day.

Sure, a young man like him was entitled to his thoughts, but a conversation along those lines would get old _fast_. Hopefully, he'd get the hint.

"That's good, but…"

Of course he hadn't.

"I don't know, Sern." Alton cut him off, handing the younger man a prepared length of rebar. "If Austin can pry her out of the hands of the electricians, then you could probably get to know her when concrete's drying on the next floor."

"She looks about the same age as you." Tirto interjected, steading the bar and tying off his end. "I bet she'd love to hear about those cartoons you like."

Sern grunted noncommittally, handing Tirto the lever while Alton got started on bending another length of rebar. The conversation died as the three got back into their work pace.

Still, Alton couldn't shake the questions that had borrowed into his mind: Just what _was_ Elizabeth?

Not that he'd ever know. The electricians downstairs had a labor shortage as well, and he was sure that once they'd gotten their gloves on her, they wouldn't let her out of their sight.

* * *

"_God damnit._"

Trinitite flinched, knowing her superior's foul mood was entirely her fault. Lee Newman had greeted her amicably, and had seen her through the process of threading wire through a concrete-encased conduit, but once things started going wrong…

"You don't have to _yank _the wire, Elizabeth!" He turned, exasperated. "When you pull it, take your time. For Christ's sake, girl, this is the second time we've had to do this."

"Aye." The Abyssal replied, sullenly staring at the frayed end of the thick wire Lee had called the 'fish tape.' Tied to the end of the tool, the remains of the wire she'd tried to pull through the conduit sat, little more than some stretched copper and rubber.

Trinitite had thought she could handle small work like this, and she _was_ taking her time to feed the wire through the pipe, but there was just enough resistance that she couldn't rely on gravity to guide the wire through the tube. When she was putting _any _effort in, however, the cable Lee had tied to the end of the fishing tape would snap when the hook caught on a bend or be yanked out of Lee's hands as she tried to guide it through, both with disastrous consequences.

"Just-" The human stated, gritting his teeth. "Just slow down, okay? _Don't force anything_."

She… she wasn't, though…

_Deep_, folding rebar had been so easy! This job was looking like a guarantee until they started asking her to work with _fragile stuff_. Even if everything went right from now on, there was _no way_ Lee would put a good word in with the Fleet's Princess.

"_I won't._" She reaffirmed, trying to keep the hopelessness out of her voice. "_Sorry._"

Instead of giving an expected response, like 'Sorry isn't enough' or 'I don't care, just do it right this time,' Lee sighed, searching Trinitite's face.

"Tell you what." He said, looking away from Trinitite. "The rest of the team is working on this floor's circuit breakers, but we don't have any coolant for them."

Coolant? Why would-

"Now, the guy in charge of the Toolshed told me the site was out of Breaker Coolant this morning, so we were going to install them without the coolant and add it in next shipment, but I could _swear _it got resupplied only a few days ago."

The man started meandering towards the exit, motioning for Trinitite to follow. She did, and he continued with his explanation.

"Now, everyone knows Cook nabs a bit of the supplies for his black-market contacts, but he's never too brazen to steal _all _of something. Either he pissed off the Hells Angels and needs to sell _a lot_ of something expensive like circuit breaker coolant, or I bet there's still a good amount lying around the worksite. I don't have time for a thorough search, but think you can take a look around for me?"

"Uh- yeah." Trinitite replied, somewhat confused. _Her _circuit breakers didn't need any kind of coolant, especially since, if one was tripping enough to need _cooled_, Trinitite would have much more serious problems, but human technology _was _far more advanced than what she had. Maybe it was some kind of fire suppression system.

"Great." Lee replied. "If you could get me some by twelve, I'll be _very _grateful. Check with the Electricians in the other building first, I think they're on floor eleven, and make sure you stay safe, alright?"

"Aye aye!" Trinitite acknowledged, forcing an enthusiastic salute. "I'll do what I can."

"That's all I can ask." Lee replied, turning away from Trinitite in a silent dismissal. The Wo-class carrier watched him leave for a second, surveying the worksite before she descended. herself.

It was a hunt, then. Trinitite hadn't participated in any seek and destroy operations, content to allow fleeing submarines to sulk as she put distance between them, but she'd heard plenty of exciting tales from Abyssals who had. This certainly wouldn't be as tense, but compared to folding metal like she'd been doing for hours? This was _exhilarating_.

First, she wanted to find someone else with a blue helmet. Something didn't sit right about the explanation Lee had given her. The human had been in a bit of a hurry, though, so she probably only needed Circuit Breaker Coolant re-explained by someone else so she could get a better idea of what she was looking for.

Now, it would probably be best if she could catch an electrician on the ground. Were there any blue helmets down there?

* * *

**Pyrrhic's Pro Tips #1: Whenever you don't know how to start a chapter, describe the weather! It's easy and will _definitely _never get old, just like with conversations!**

**Lee is actually pretty terrible at his job, to be cutting the wire he thinks he'll need before feeding it into his conduit. The videos I watched did make the process look almost foolproof, but they certainly didn't follow US regulations and only used one wire, so it's probably more difficult than it was in what I watched. Still, I admit I don't know much about wiring a building. Hopefully I got things correct enough that I won't need to go back and rewrite that scene.**

**And I will, if I did screw up. **


	36. Circuit Breaker Coolant

Wandering about the construction site felt like a completely different experience. With the majority of people focused on their own work, the Abyssal felt almost invisible as she searched. In a way, it reminded her of activity at the Supply Depot Princess's base, although if she'd tried walking around there she'd almost immediately be confronted by one of the Princess's fleet.

Maybe that was a sign of acceptance here, but it certainly didn't feel like one. It was… strange. She'd only seen so many people in one place during her failed attempt to recon Seattle, but there everyone was simply walking from one place to another. Here, a million different tasks were being performed, hundreds of humans focused on completing one goal, and she was just… walking. She'd take this over the attention she'd been getting in the morning any day, but this was unnerving in its own way.

The Wo-class's rangefinders flitted over each human she passed, looking for the telltale sign of a blue helmet. She'd spotted a few from building two, but now that she'd returned to the ground she'd lost track of him. If she couldn't find a loose electrician soon, she'd skip to Lee's suggestion of checking Building One, but if the option was available…

There, just to starboard!

The man had been kneeling down, inspecting some device connected to the base of a metal box. When Trinitite had last looked at him, his helmet had been concealed as he hunched over, so she'd given him no attention until she'd almost completely walked by him.

Attempting to come to a full stop, Trintite jammed her boots into the mud. Of course, the tread slid in the sandy mud, and some desperate flailing was the only thing that saved her from a sudden meeting with the ground and critical damage to her dignity.

Once she'd recovered, she focused on the Electrician.

He looked… _really busy_, actually. She couldn't get a good view of his face, but the paper he'd propped next to the machine looked twice as intricate as the employment applications that had confounded her, while the human made constant updates from the meter he'd wired into the conduit. If she interrupted him, he probably wouldn't be particularly inclined to help her, so…

So she waited, her thoughts wandering as the human concluded his important business.

Trinitite had never stowed her rigging for this long. She was no stranger to it, stowing for repairs or relaxing in general, but incidents like this one made her _really_ miss being able to rely on her lookouts. Of course, strolling around the construction sight with an extra pair of eyes and two additional pairs of limbs was perhaps the worst idea she could think of, but it was starting to dawn on her that her rigging and fairies weren't going to see much use anymore. It was… a bit sad, really. She'd always taken that rigging for granted.

"Can I help you?"

The electrician was looking up now, a questioning look on his face. Either he was done, or Trinitite's hovering had interrupted him anyways.

"Uh, yes!" The Abyssal nodded. "Would you know what circuit breaker coolant would look like?"

The human clearly didn't have any on him, so the Carrier figured a question to clarify exactly what he was looking for would work better. She could always ask a followup if the man looked like he knew what he was doing.

He blinked.

"Um…" He replied, looking back towards the box he'd been working on. "You don't mean transformer oil, do you?"

"No." Trinitite confirmed. "Lee was pretty specific on 'Breaker Coolant.'"

"Huh." The man scratched his cheek. "Why would you need that?"

Trinitite shrugged. She'd asked some of her crew while she'd been looking for an electrician, and they'd emphasized that air cooling worked just fine for _her _breakers.

"I know if you're dealing with really high voltage stuff," The man continued, lost in thought, "you'd need some pretty serious circuit breakers to survive the kind of arcing you'd get. Those things could be actively cooled, if you want to save on weight and space."

Ah, that made sense. With how small everything was in human society, they probably cared a lot about that kind of thing, didn't they? Her electricians didn't seem particularly impressed with that explanation, but Trinitite was inclined to go with the opinion of those more familiar with human technology.

"Do we have any?" She asked, hopefully.

"I don't know." He replied, shrugging himself. "I'm new here."

_Oh._

* * *

Now that several minutes had been successfully wasted, Trinitite charted a least-time course for Building One. Given how the skeletal structure and the cranes attending to it dominated the worksite, that wasn't particularly difficult.

The Abyssal didn't pay as much attention to the workers around her, this time around. She still watched her surroundings, and her curiosity was consistently peaked as she saw a human doing this or that, but if she wanted to salvage Lee's impression of her, she needed to get some coolant back to him as soon as possible. Attempting to decipher everyone's job could come later.

"Hey, there!"

The Wo-Class's gaze snapped to the source of the noise. The human who'd shouted was looking at her, unfortunately. Trinitite briefly considered blowing the random worker off to continue on her task, but she wasn't looking to make any enemies in her new fleet, so…

"Yeah?"

Hopefully, the man only wanted to give her a short warning or something, then he'd let Trinitite continue. However, The Carrier tempered her expectations when the man abandoned his work and approached Trinitite without any sense of urgency or seriousness.

"Haven't seen you around before." He commented, nodding.

_Deep_, she didn't have time for this.

"A lot of people work here." Trinitite pointed out. There was a chance he knew everyone on the worksite, but given the _sheer number_ of humans she'd seen here, Trinitite doubted that.

"I wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours, Miss." He replied, a smirk on his face.

"Pretty?" Trinitite echoed, unsure of the man's meaning. You could perform a pretty good torpedo run or be given a pretty bad time by enemy jets, but Trinitite couldn't really wrap her mind around how that word fit into the human's sentence. Had she misheard?

That must not have been the response he was expecting, surprise overtaking the human's expression as he processed the question. The human had about the same height as Dan, but for some reason Trinitite felt much less intimidated by his stature. Finally, he chuckled, his confidence returning.

"Come on," He started, emphasizing his doubt. "Don't tell me nobody's told you that before?"

"They haven't." She deadpanned. "Is-" She started, second guessing herself. If she hadn't sunk several minutes into asking a random person a question they couldn't answer, she might have humored the man, but with her current situation?

"Is this important?"

She had a reputation to salvage. Preserving her standing in the fleet wouldn't mean anything if she wasn't allowed to work here.

It was like she'd hit him. The smile disappeared, and he took a step back.

"Hey, no need to get snappy." The man's eyes widened, his palms out.

_Had _she been snappy?

"Sorry." She apologized, before taking a step back and pointing towards building one. "I just have a time-sensitive mission at the moment."

"Whatever it is," the man replied, placing his hand on Trinitite's shoulder. "It can wait."

Okay, now he was just interfering with her objectives.

The Abyssal turned, leaving. The man's grip on Trinitite tightened, and for a moment it looked like she was going to lose traction on the sandy mud below, but the other human's boots gave out first and he ended up tumbling sideways. The man's grip on Trinitite's safety vest tightened for a moment, before disappearing altogether as he focused on his new home in the mud.

Trinitite wished she could have been more polite to him, but she had no patience for someone trying to impede her mission, especially one as important as this one.

Judging by the laughter that drifted from aft of her, it hadn't gone _that _poorly anyways. Her reputation with _that_ human might have been damaged, but it seems his comrades had enjoyed the encounter.

Come to think of it, the human had been awfully cheery when talking to Trinitite. Nobody acted that friendly with people they knew, and although many humans she'd talked to had been cordial, the way this one had spoken didn't sit right with her.

A thought struck the abyssal, and she froze. That hadn't been harassment, had it?

Even after watching the training video, Trinitite wasn't certain what sexual harassment actually was. Maybe he really did just want to know everyone on the worksite.

Deep, how did they manage to make things so _complicated_?

* * *

"What floor?" The man queried, pinning Trinitite with a lifeless stare.

"Uh…" She stalled. Wondering why she hadn't asked Lee this question. "Where are the electricians working?"

"Eleven." He replied, and Trinitite nodded. The human grunted, shifting his focus to the next man who'd entered the elevator. Once it didn't look like anyone else wanted aboard the elevator, he secured the door, before his thumb pressed one of the three buttons it had been hovering over. With an uncomfortable lurch, the elevator started upwards, and with no sound but the elevator's laboring motor, Trinitite was left with her own thoughts.

Well, it hadn't taken long to find a job worse than bending rebar. Trinitite considered herself a patient ship, but spending hours in a moving metal cage, with nothing to do but push three different buttons and operate a door, sounded like a miserable time. You'd think, with so many humans passing through this elevator, that the operator could spend the time learning something about everyone passing through, but the human was dead silent.

Maybe it was the sheer size of Dan's fleet, but there was an uncanny lack of comradery here. It reminded her more of the loose coalitions that Princesses threw together to protect convoys than any proper fleet.

She couldn't really complain about that, though. The less questions she was forced to answer, the better her half-formed cover story would hold.

The elevator lurched to a stop, and the operator gave Trinitite a pointed look. Guess she was at her floor, then. The Wo-class left, the steel cage closing wordlessly behind her. As the elevator ascended again, Trinitite had her first unobstructed view of human territory from this altitude.

Maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. She'd seen plenty of _former _human territory from much higher, through the view of her aircraft, but given she probably wasn't going to use those for a while, this was the closest image she was going to get to compare with.

The area designated as 'Redmond' on her stolen charts wasn't underwhelming, as far as human towns went, although it didn't hold a candle to the ruins of Singapore and Hong Kong. She couldn't get a good read on its width, as the forest mingled with, swallowed, and blurred its edges, but while several central buildings were large, they didn't really compare in height to those she'd seen in her brief venture into Seattle. The abyssal had hoped to get a better view of the major city, but it seemed the light rain was enough to reduce the distant structures to a uniform blur.

Come to think of it, this building wouldn't have been particularly out of place in Seattle or other large cities she'd seen, but out here it would be about as inconspicuous as a Re-class. There were probably thousands more humans who were already using the structure as a landmark to help them navigate Washington.

She… wasn't sure how to think about that.

There was a closer town, and judging by the size of it's buildings an equally well-established one, but with the lights in her chartroom out, her crew couldn't quite make out the designation the map had given it. She'd need to find somewhere she could safely restore power to her tower's lighting before she could get an answer from her crew.

Or she could ask for the 'road map' itself and read it, but this wasn't the time or place for that.

_Or_, her crew could bring a battle lantern into the chartroom. That couldn't be that hard, could it?

Okay, with all the hatches in her island open and every mirror aboard strategically placed to allow in natural light, maybe there _was_ a chance the illumination from battle lanterns could escape, spoiling her disguise. She needed to find time to test that out. Still, it seemed like a fairly obvious idea that could have saved her infirmaries a lot of work. She'd long gotten used to hearing her crew accidentally tumbling down ladders, banging their shins on equipment, and tripping in hatchways, but she was sure it had gotten old with them _fast_.

Besides its number, floor eleven in building one wasn't much different from floor two in building two. It didn't take much effort to spot the small squadron of blue-helmeted humans. Most were threading wire through conduits like she'd been, although they were threading wire from a large spool instead of using a predetermined length like Lee had been doing.

...Why _hadn't_ Lee been doing it this way? Trinitite wouldn't have had half as many problems if she'd had more wire to work with.

A group of electricians were clustered around one of those portable instrument consoles humans made. Given how intently they were focused on the slab-like machine, it must have been displaying something of import. An inventory sheet, maybe? Operation plans?

"I don't like leaving all of this to one breaker." The man holding the slab shook his head, pointing at something. "I know you've been doing this for ten floors already, but this looks like a fire hazard."

Fire? Trinitite was _far _too acquainted with that. The Abyssal paused, giving the group their space. Asking for breaker coolant could wait until they had the incendiary problem under control.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration." A second man replied, pointing below him. "This is still solidly within code."

The first man shook his head, sighing.

"I don't know, I feel we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Welcome to the real world, kid." The second man clapped the first on the back. "They want this cheap, and fast. The breakers will wear a bit faster than we'd like, but King County will be knocking this whole thing down in ten years, anyways."

He broke off the conversation, glancing towards Trinitite.

_What- what was that?_

"What do you want?"

She should have answered, but the abyssal's focus was momentarily interrupted by the tuft of hair poking out between the man's mouth and nose. Why hadn't she seen anyone else with hair like that? Sure, a lot of humans had had some hair on their face, but this was just so… _localized_. That couldn't be natural, could it?

"Hey. Hello?"

"Oh!" Trinitite jumped, forcing herself to look away from that _thing_. What _was_ she here for? "Uh, Lee sent me, from building two."

"Go on." He replied, his tone impatient. Trinitite couldn't get a good read on his face, because her gaze kept drifting down to _that_. He didn't have hair anywhere else on his face…

"Well, we don't have any Breaker Coolant, and apparently the Toolshed is fresh out-"

"_Breaker Coolant?_" The man interrupted, and Trinitite jumped. Had she just accidentally insulted him, or was he noticing her staring? Trinitite wasn't _trying_ to, really!

The human sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning away.

"I am _not _in the mood for his bullshit today… Okay." He looked back up, squaring his shoulders. Trinitite couldn't help but watch as the patch of hair shifted with the man's jaw. "Go bug Cook at the Toolshed about it. You know where that is, right?"

The way he asked implied he was expecting one answer, and while it was a lie, Trinitite felt her showing up was causing him plenty of trouble anyways. Better not give him an excuse to punish her.

"Yeah."

"Alright." He stated, waving his hand dismissively. "Shoo. Tell Lee I said fuck you, alright?"

"Aye… Aye?" By the time Trinitite had finished her salute, the human had already turned and left.

Huh. Seeing how busy everyone else was, Trinitite was starting to get a bit anxious. This whole Breaker Coolant thing was starting to feel like a waste of time.

* * *

The elevator lurched to a halt, and the defeated Carrier shuffled out onto the sandy mud. She could go and visit the toolshed, wherever that was, but she suspected the result would be the same. Given the fact one trained electrician didn't know the stuff existed, and the other was clearly just trying to get Trinitite to leave, this 'breaker coolant' probably wasn't that important. Trinitite had been given this mission because it was going to take a while, and perhaps no other reason.

That meant Lee must _hate_ her. She'd already failed the Electrician's assessment, meaning no matter how well she'd handled the rebar, Dan probably wasn't going to allow her to keep working.

That meant more awkward interviews, more forms, and more time watching her hold slowly empty without any way to refill it.

Maybe… maybe that could wait, for a bit. She'd barely scratched her haul from her raid on the warehouse, meaning she had plenty of time to secure a job. Since this wasn't working out, maybe a bit more intelligence gathering in the Library she'd found would be in order, before she dived back into the ordeal that was finding a job.

"Whadda _you _doing here?"

Trinitite froze. She'd only been a part of this fleet for a few hours, but it would be impossible to forget Dan's odd accent. She looked up, perhaps more surprised than she should have been to run into her commander.

Dan Pratt had been walking with someone else, but for now both their eyes were locked onto her.

"Ah!" Trinitite stiffened, giving her commander a salute. Remembering the large human didn't look impressed by such a gesture, Trinitite's gloved hand snapped back to her sides almost immediately. "I'm looking for circuit breaker coolant for Lee."

Before saying that, Dan had seemed curious, but after mentioning the coolant, the man's features hardened.

"Circuit breaker coolant?" He asked, incredulous.

"Aye."

Dan sighed, looking back to the human following him.

"Go back to Lee." He commanded, his voice stern. Trinitite knew he was _not _amused, but something told her his anger wasn't directed at her. "Let him know I said I have some in my office."

_That _was a relief.

"I will!" Trinitite straightened. Knowing she'd solved Lee's problem with a simple question was a _huge _weight out of hold. "Thank you!"

"No problem." Dan nodded, turning away to continue talking with his partner. The pair walked away, leaving Trinitite to deliver the good news.

The _way _he'd said it hadn't made it sound like that, though. Had Dan been trying to hide or save the coolant, just in case?

A theory started to form in Trinitite's mind, honed by over a year of watching political infighting between Abyssal Princesses from a neutral perspective. Lee had said something about the leader of a section of the base termed a 'Toolshed' stealing important supplies to sell to a different fleet. She'd be surprised if such rumors hadn't made their way up to Dan, and while some Princesses would use a rumor as a good enough excuse to punish an underling, if this Cook was skilled enough they'd probably want evidence before making their own food.

Maybe Dan, knowing the value of Circuit Breaker Coolant, had set aside a personal stash. When someone came asking for that spare coolant long before they should have, that meant there must be a _second _drain on Dan's resources he hadn't known before. By performing Lee's busywork, Trinitite had exposed a traitor in Dan's mist!

No matter what Lee thought, surely she'd be rewarded for this, right? A job here was practically guaranteed!

Feeling much more chipper. Trinitite charted a course back to building two. She couldn't wait to deliver the good news back to Lee!

For some reason, he didn't take it well. Had Trinitite missed something?

* * *

**I think this is the fic's first 'fluff' chapter. It feels a bit weird to write something without any intention of furthering the plot or creating lasting consequences, but I had a good amount of fun writing this chapter, and hopefully you had the same reading it.**

**As always, criticism is welcome, especially since I left a lot of my research into how electricians work in the construction with the feeling I still didn't know anything.**

**Next chapter will be another interlude, although I'm split on which topic I'll cover. I don't want to commit to a 'two mainline chapters, one interlude' structure, but it seems to work well for _this _part of the story.**


	37. Interlude: Old Contacts

It was dark, the room's ceiling fixture casting light from only one bulb. She had plenty of LEDs, somewhere, but the ceiling fan in Katie Harmon's office had been designed with fluorescent bulbs in mind, and using all three sockets meant working with a miniature sun boring into her face. The singular bulb only efficiently lit a third of the room, highlighting a cork board she'd bought. As the private investigator worked, she was only a glance away from the visages of the people who'd so far evaded her.

A blown up frame from a CCTV system, cropped to display the visage of a caucasian man who'd taken several payday loans in Nevada and disappeared two months ago. She had a hard time feeling sympathy for the sharks who'd been swindled, but one of them was paying, so she'd chase him for as long as she needed to.

A high school photograph, dominated by an african american teenager's goofy smile. Would be seventeen, if she was still out there. The police had given up, and Katie didn't have much hope for her. However, she'd knocked a suspect from her neighborhood off her list under a month ago, and she hadn't ruled out the possibility the girl had just run away, so there might still be _some_ chance.

In the last two years, that corkboard had become filled with a new category: images of loved ones from all over the indo-pacific region decorated the screen, ranging from Hawaiians to Sri Lankans. These were the most difficult to look at. They weren't a testament to her failures, unlike the others on the board, but knowing the many were face-down in some jungle or crab food at the bottom of the ocean…

It could get a little overwhelming, at times. Still, she couldn't charge much, and since they turned up fairly regularly, it had become a steady source of income for her. She didn't offer much of a rate when her expectations were so low, but it still ensured she made rent with a healthy margin.

Besides, her client's reaction when Katie called to deliver the good news was priceless. Knowing someone was so grateful of her talents was the kind of rush that kept her in this job.

Katie Harmon leaned back in her office chair, taking another bite of the sub sandwich she'd ordered. Despite herself, she still splurged by ordering out for lunches, ensuring she didn't have to spend any of her break time in the kitchen. Sure, making a nice meal for yourself could be relaxing, but with only thirty minutes to enjoy, the private investigator would rather spend the extra money and enjoy herself.

Her phone buzzed.

Kaite groaned, the sandwich's wrapper crinkling as she placed it back on her desk. Her caller ID didn't recognize the number, but it was from _Washington_. If this was _another _call about her car's supposed warranty…

"Harmon Detective Agency," She wanted to force a cheery voice, but with her lunch interrupted, stoicism was about the best she could muster, "you're speaking to Harmon."

"_Katie Harmon?_"

_It was worse._

"I told you never to call me again." Katie growled, clenching her phone. She could have lived her entire life without hearing Brad Murray's voice again.

"_This is a professional call, detective._" The manipulative bastard replied, his voice even. Only someone as familiar with the man as she was would recognize that he wasn't too happy about this, either. "_My Commander needs a PI to assist in a national security issue, and you're the best I know._"

The shallow complement stirred a flicker in Katie's chest, but she ruthlessly stamped it down. If anyone else had said that, she'd agree. Katie had scoped out her competition in California, and knew without a doubt that she was the best in the state, if not the west coast. However, the bastard was a psychologist _and _spy. _Of course_ he'd know how to pull her strings.

"What can I do that NCIS can't?" Katie snapped, pulling a map up on one of her monitors. Washington was awfully far North. She was far too busy for a road trip, so she'd have to schedule a flight, and with this little notice the price would be exorbitant.

"_It's classified_." Brad clipped. "_We can brief you if you agree to a background check_."

"That doesn't answer my question." She growled.

A sigh filtered through the phone's speaker.

"_Look. This situation is… big. There's been a revelation, and whatever we do now will be international news in a year to two. Political considerations prevent us from using government intelligence agencies, so credit for how this investigation is handled will land on your shoulders._" _That_ was a warning flag, if Katie ever heard one. A job was one thing, but if it got her on the shitlist of law enforcement, then it wouldn't be worth it. "_If you're successful? Your face will be all over the news. If you're not? Then I'm the one who's at fault for hiring you. You win, either way._"

"Taking you down a peg would be worth a lot of money…" Katie mused, unsure herself if she was serious.

"_This is more important than that, Kaite._" Brad's reply came immediately, without the tinge of annoyance she expected. Odd, either he'd gotten even better at concealing his emotions, or this really _was_ serious.

It was an… _interesting_ proposition. Seeing Brad again was a major reason to refuse the job, of course, and getting involved in inter-agency politics wasn't on her bucket list, but if what he was talking about was true…

Being an investigator was an inglorious job. Sure, if the cards fell right your client could fall head over heels for you, but generally things were limited to that scope. Katie had trouble imagining what situation could possibly net such major attention, but the idea that she _could _get the spotlight brought back memories of the mystery novels she'd used to read, or those old noir films none of her friends understood.

It probably wasn't as big as Brad was making it out to be, but besides the fifteen minutes of fame he promised, any public recognition could do wonders for her business. Things weren't bad _now_, but plenty of corporations said the same thing until it was too late for them. Having a public image could do wonders for her financially, and she wouldn't mind the attention, either.

Against her better judgment, Katie Harmon, Private Investigator, sighed.

"Alright, I'm in. What do you need from me?"

This better be worth it.

* * *

When Captain Murray initially placed his phone call, Nashville's own work stalled. She'd already spent several hours researching interrogation techniques and tricks, trying to figure out how to crack those two abyssal pilots she still had stewing in her brig, but by now any distraction was welcome. Besides, Murray's tone had seemed a bit more… _strained _than what Nashville would have expected from a business contact, meaning this 'Katie Harmon' was clearly more than just a business associate.

More specifically? Nashville wasn't sure if she wanted to think too much about it. The prospect of trying to tease the answer out of him sounded _much_ more interesting. Had she discovered a weakness in his stoic armor? As the Captain's conversation drifted over acronyms like ANACI and NACLC, Nashville instead tried to remember some of the best lines she'd heard her crew use to get under each other's skin. They were on duty, so best to avoid something _too _crude, but if she was too tame about it she probably wouldn't get much of a response.

_Oho, do I have competition?_

Almost immediately, Nashville tossed that line out. She still wasn't entirely sure what to make of Murray, and besides, while plenty of other shipgirls played with fire Nashville wasn't sailing anywhere _near _fraternization regulations. When she figured she was established enough for a relationship, there were plenty of officers Nashville could flirt with _without _compromising the chain of command. It made her sound too much like Brooklyn, anyways.

_So… how was she in bed?_

Yeah, that could work. Nashville hadn't really had the chance to try out some of the baser aspects of her new form, but she'd _heard _plenty about it. The point wasn't to try and start a conversation, anyways.

"Alright." Captain Murray concluded, the statement's finality drawing Nashville's attention back to the conversation. "Have a nice day." The man terminated the call, closing his eyes as he allowed the government-issued phone to fall to his desk. His shoulders rose as he slowly drew in a breath, letting the air out in a tired sigh.

Nashville's line died on her lips as the Captain looked directly at her.

"Want some advice, Ensign?"

"Sure?" The Cruiser responded, momentarily confused.

"Never enter a relationship with someone thinking you'll be able to 'fix' them." Murray started, picking up his half-filled cup of coffee. As he spoke, he shook it slightly, his eyes glued to the liquid as it sloshed. "You'll only make things worse for both of you."

"Ah." Nashville replied. So, she was looking at a sore spot, then. Another thought came, however, and Nashville couldn't help herself. "But… You were a psychologist, right? Wasn't that your job?"

"I was training to be a therapist." Murray clarified. "Even then, Therapists don't 'fix' clients. We try to diagnose psychological issues, and give them strategies that have helped people to deal with those issues." He took a swig of the coffee, draining a significant portion of it before continuing. "Whether they actually _do_ that is up to them."

"Huh." Nashville replied. Another question came to mind, this one far more important. "Hold on, then. How does that relate to Abyssals?"

"What do you mean?" He asked. The spook straightened, perhaps sensing the change in subject.

"I mean, The Jellyfish Princess hadn't been all there-" Even though her roll in the Battle of Bikini had been pretty minor, everyone had heard the Princess's nihilistic ramblings over the radio. "-but she _certainly _wasn't trying to get over herself."

"I see." Murray acknowledged. "Abyssal Princesses aren't at all like a client with narcissism or depression." He chuckled a bit to himself, perhaps glad for the change of the subject. "It's more like you have a friend who's hiked up on bath salts, but you just need to get them to _recognize _you before you can calm them down."

He frowned, looking thoughtfully back at his coffee. "Maybe that analogy doesn't fit very well. I mean, you will have to subdue them if you want to talk sense into them, but their high doesn't end if you leave them alone, and it _immediately_ ends if you do get to them. Also, the process is a lot more like making them recognize _themselves…_"

Murray shook his head, looking back at Nashville.

"Point is, purification strategies use a similar knowledge base as a therapist, but the tactics are much different. PACOM isn't going to sit the Central Princess on a chair so I can ask her about any dreams she's had, but I have advised on our plans relating to the Oahu offensive."

"Alright." Nashville acknowledged. Maybe it was because she knew the Abyss had one of her sisters, but the Captain had her full attention. "How can I get you to draw up a plan on saving Phoenix?"

"We don't know the Princess in the Falklands _is _Pheonix." He replied, evenly.

"Bullshit." Nashville challenged. "Who else could it be?"

"We don't know." He replied, shrugging. "There haven't been any reconnaissance missions to the Falklands that I know of. The Princess there keeps to herself, and like the Northern Princess her ships warn traffic that gets too close instead of immediately sinking it. Compared to enemies on The African Coast and in The Med, she just hasn't been a priority."

Shit, this wasn't a point she could argue, was it?

"Okay, you'll need someone to check it out, then?"

Murray's eyes suddenly widened. What was he-

"You're not thinking of going AWOL, are you?"

"_What?_" She hissed. The question even got several of Murray's other subordinates to look up from their work, although Nashville was sure many had been watching the conversation already. "Of course not!"

She hadn't even considered the idea! She had too much unfinished business here, anyways.

_You better show up soon, Wo._

Still, there had to be _someone _she could talk to to get a mission like that started. It was a little out of the way for a submarine, though. How could she convince someone in the brass to greenlight some reconnaissance?

This sounded like something she needed to brainstorm with her other sisters. After learning they'd kept the nature of Abyssal Princesses from her, she had a bone to pick with them, anyways. It would be easier if she could get reassigned to a cruiser division, but that once again meant she needed to find _that damn monster_.

Let's see, if _Nashville_ was an eldritch aircraft carrier hellbent on hunting down her former boss, where would she be?

* * *

**Readers, meet tertiary character. Tertiary character, meet readers. Honestly, if it wasn't for Nashville's conversation with Murray at the end of this interlude, I probably wouldn't have published this. Melodrama for its own sake is the last thing I want to add to this story, but the antagonist duo has really grown on me so using the private eye to give them a bit more development sounded like a good idea. At the end of the day, giving the person with perhaps the most experience hunting people a unique personality should make her hunt for Red Wo-tober a bit more interesting.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed! If not, Trinitite will be the center of the next couple of chapters, as always.**


	38. Lunchbreak

The office was as quiet as it could be, with the constant buzz of the fan keeping air flowing through the portable building. Thomas had left to grab lunch from a restaurant in Sammamish, leaving the three men alone in the building.

"So." Dan started, shooting Lee a pointed look. "_Breaker Coolant_?"

The electrician seemed to stiffen for a moment, before nodding.

"Yeah." He took a gulp from his water bottle, avoiding the foreman's stare without breaking his facade of confidence.

"I sent you a new hire for you to evaluate," Dan stated, keeping his voice flat, "and instead of actually watching her work, you sent her after headlight fluid, depriving yourself of labor and disrupting several other people's work, _including mine_?"

To be honest, Dan had forgotten about Elizabeth after siccing her on building two. Despite his experience, the Foreman was managing twice as many people as he used to, with roughly the same amount of equipment for everyone to share. It was proving to be a big job, and while he'd appreciate an additional worker if she proved to be actually useful, he didn't have the time to think about The Eccentric Woman. Even now, he could only dedicate five minutes to the meeting he'd scheduled with Lee and Austin, scraped in at the leading edge of their lunch break.

Dan had brought his lunch box out of the office's miniature fridge, the muted aroma of his sandwich filling the portable office. He'd initially wanted to keep it locked up so everyone's focus would be on their short meeting, but after hearing about Lee's antics The Forman was feeling a little petty. Taunting Austin with the aroma was a little rude, but he could handle it.

"I did." Lee replied defiantly. "_Anyone_ would want her out of their hair, after the damage she did."

"Damage?" Austin echoed, seeming genuinely surprised. Whatever the problem was, it seemed to be confined to Lee.

"Yes! I tried to walk her through pushing wire, but she broke it!" Lee snapped. "_Three times_. You bet I wouldn't let her work on anything more expensive."

"How could that happen?" Dan asked, walking through the process in his head. Unless concrete had leaked into the conduit, but not enough to block it off, _somehow_, Elizabeth would have to be a special kind of fuckup to break something. That, or Lee was doing something _incredibly _wrong. You needed force on both ends of a wire to break it, after all, so unless it snagged on something…

Either way, he failed to see how something like that could be Elizabeth's fault. It was a weird issue, and he'd need to investigate Lee's work before another inspector made an unannounced visit. Still, it didn't speak all that well for the new hire, either. If Lee hadn't wasted so much of other people's time and money with his out-of-place prank, he wouldn't be all that inclined to keep the new girl on.

"You mean the wire breaking?" Lee asked.

"_What else could I mean_?" Dan questioned, fighting to keep his rising frustration out of his voice. This was the kind of lead around he'd expect from his son. His _youngest _son.

"Well." Lee took another swig of the water bottle, gathering his thoughts. "When she pulls the wire, she doesn't know when to stop, so she ends up trying to pull my hand through the conduit."

"And, why can't you let it slide?" Dan deadpanned, exasperated. The topic of a new employee suddenly sounded much less important.

"Well, we cut it first." Lee answered, and Dan almost drove his head into the table. Perhaps noticing the Foreman's expression, he continued before Dan could speak up. "It saves time, boss! We make all the cuts we need at the start of the day, so several teams can use the same spool at once when we start pushing wire."

"It also leads to taught wire." Dan added. He was no electrician, but he'd worked with enough in his day to know that was _not _how it was done. The last thing he needed was for one of his buildings to get condemned a year after he was finished.

"We give them plenty of slack!" Lee retorted. "Two feet of extra wire to make sure there's enough wiggle room."

"So you waste wire." Dan deadpanned.

"That's the price of faster work, boss." Lee recited. Clearly, that had been an answer he was prepared to give.

"Do it _right_, Lee." Dan countered. "Now I'm going to have to task someone to look over your work to make sure it's safe."

Lee's face flushed red, but Dan cut off any response. He only had a few minutes to address this bullshit, and if he couldn't nip this problem now it was going to cost him a lot more time.

"Shut up about speed. You know why we're behind schedule? _Because we keep cutting corners_." Dan sighed, looking to where their first building would be, if the office's walls didn't obscure the view. "If everyone on this site stopped trying to fuck with procedure and actually got their job done? Building One would be finished already." He leaned back in his chair, giving Lee an expectant look that was daring him to argue.

None came from the flustered electrician, so Dan turned his attention to the second man.

"So, how'd she do?"

"Uh… great, actually." Austin exclaimed, giving Lee a wary stare. "She just kept quiet and worked. Her team pulled ahead of everyone else, and when I checked her work everything seemed solid."

"Alright." Dan replied. He was running out of time for this meeting, and while going over time would only cut into their lunch break, that wasn't a precedent he wanted to set. He'd have to rely on Austin's judgement for now. "She's all yours. Enjoy your lunch." The man nodded, leaving Dan with the scorned Lee.

A moment passed.

"Do you need me for anything else?" Lee questioned.

"Hmm." Dan thought, looking back to his lunchbox contemplatively. "No. Have a nice day, Lee."

The Electrician nodded, beating a quiet but hasty retreat out of the portable office. He'd have to look over the job he'd done later, and seriously consider hiring a replacement, but that was a job for future Dan.

The Bostonian turned his attention back to the lunchbox. He could already smell a hardy sandwich with his name on it. Grabbing the item and removing the plastic bag it was protected in, the Foreman surveyed his meal. The tri-tip beef he'd roasted a few days prior had made a wonderful family dinner, and he'd managed to cut the leftover meat thin enough for _perfect _sandwich meat.

Dan took his first bite from the sandwich, savoring how the tender meat mixed with the wheat bread and horseradish sauce. It complemented the marinated meat _perfectly_. Now, was the provolone good enough, or would the sandwich be better with swiss?

* * *

Even though work had slowed, the worksite was still swarming with activity. From Trinitite's position just outside the office, she observed more humans than she could reliably count. The perimeter fence had been retracted, workers forming a pair of lines drifting from something outside Trinitite's view. The men who filtered back onto the worksite were carrying some kind of food, although the actual contents were obscured by protective wrapping. When a human sat close enough to the office exit for Trinitite to see, the Carrier watched him peel the wrapping back, enjoying a bread-like food the Wo-class only faintly recognized. So many different foods had been secured in her stores, she'd forgotten the names to most of it.

...Hold on, he was eating with his hands! Was she the victim of an odd prank on the _Pacific Lilly_, or were there some secret rules as to what you _could _eat with your hands and what you couldn't?

Looking around further, she noticed several other humans were eating from various containers she guessed they'd brought with them. One, holding a few slices of bread in his hands, took a bite with his gloveless hands. Another _did _have one of those tools she'd seen on the trawler, and was busy using it to scoop liquid from a white cup he'd brought.

So… it did look like her rules theory was true. _By the deep_, where was she going to learn those?

Either way, seeing all this food, no matter how alien it was, was starting to pique the Carrier's appetite. She didn't dare eat- she hadn't been given permission to eat yet, and although they probably didn't care if she nibbled on something if she waited, the off-chance they _would_ kept her mouth shut. Whenever dealing with a new Princess, you had to be weary about that sort of thing. She'll ask if it was okay once she knew if she still had a job or not.

Several teams continued with their work, perhaps waiting for the lines to shorten. The Abyssal watched them to keep her mind off of the prospect of food, or whatever fate was being decided inside the office. She _hoped _it was good. Trinitite had already put so much effort into figuring out this place. Having to throw it all away and start the process all over again?

The thought was… _disheartening_.

"Hey, Elizabeth."

The abyssal jumped, wrenching her attention from a distant group of workers to the man who'd exited the office. She straightened, giving a salute.

"Yes?"

Right, she wasn't supposed to salute anymore. _Deep_, this was going to be hard. Luckly, Austin didn't seem to care about the Abyssal's slipup.

"You're hired." He deadpanned. "Get lunch and report back to me in thirty minutes, okay?"

Although only one was active, the Carrier felt all her boilers stirr at the amazing news. No more turbine-grinding stress, checking her inventory reports and knowing every meal was precious supplies she couldn't make back. No more drifting, pathetically washing up to various fleets to beg for a job. She was a part of something now. Part of…

What was this fleet called, again? Mc… _something_ construction group. Would that make her new name _MCS Trinitite_?

Eh, it didn't roll off the tongue quite as well as _CFS_ did, and many abyssal fleets didn't bother with giving their ships prefixes at all, but Trinitite hadn't felt right without one. No one might know her true name, now, but calling herself that felt like a good reminder that she finally _belonged _to something. Of course, helping these humans was a distant second priority to finding her mother, but until then MCS Trinitite would do her best to ensure her new fleet didn't regret recruiting her.

"Aye!" She replied earnestly. "Thank you!"

"Sure." Austin deadpanned, looking at a miniature chronometer. "Did you bring lunch?"

"Of course!" The Carrier replied. Austin's skeptical look was worrying, but he turned, giving the disguised abyssal an apathetic wave.

"Alright then. See you in thirty."

Left to her own devices, Trinitite found herself setting a course for building two. Best to get to her objective first, then worry about eating next. What were her food plans, though? Building something complex, like in the cookbooks she'd commandeered, wouldn't be possible. Thirty minutes just wasn't enough time, and it wasn't like the incomplete structure had an oven, anyways. Using her own would just arouse suspicion. How did those work, anyways? Her cooks had been just as inexperienced as the rest of her crew when she had first arrived, and that hadn't been something her princess had thought of when training her. She'd never paid attention to her kitchen, but she wouldn't be surprised if half of the stuff in there never got used.

That left her with plenty of other options, though. There was plenty of meat and fruit in her refrigerator, and both sounded like a great reward for securing her first job. She'd want something to drink, though, and while plenty of items in her regular hold weren't labeled as some kind of sauce, the thought of instigating repeat of the Tobasco debacle in front of her fleetmates made her want to sink. Best to source a drink from the refrigerator as well, then…

* * *

Alton sighed, enjoying the subtle mix of seasonings and textures as he worked the rice and a bite of his salmon patty around in his mouth. Even farm salmon was disconcertingly expensive these days, but a taste that reminded him of his lost home was well worth it. Normally, he could settle with a sandwich, but at the end of a long work week, he needed something more… _homey_ to get through the day. The fact his meal was served at a dull ambient temperature didn't do much to dampen his spirits.

He was eating alone, Tirto and Sern having left to join the lines snaking away from the food trucks. Today the two had the choice between a blue-and-white Gyro Truck and a Vietnamiese-themed one, both far cries from the cuizine they were used to. The Americas had a diverse enough climate and a healthy enough trade network that many refugees who'd settled in the US could find food accommodating to their preferences, but those who chose to bunk here at the worksite often didn't have a choice beyond whatever food trucks Dan could schedule every noon. It wasn't uncommon for a new hire to spend a good portion of his first few days getting acquainted with the porta potties.

All the grease common with that kind of food probably didn't help.

Footsteps caught the man's attention, Alton looking up to see someone he'd been trying to forget about. Elizabeth approached, a plastic container clutched in her hand as she sat across from Alton.

So… apparently she was going to be working with them, now. He couldn't say he didn't appreciate the help- his body wasn't as young as it used to be, and he was feeling less sore than he normally did at lunchtime- he was honestly surprised. Why didn't the electricians grab her?

"So." He started, taking another bite of salmon. "You're working with us… huh?"

Across from him, the girl peeled the top off of a package of deli-style roast beef, setting a banana and some short carton in front of her.

"Hmm?" Elizabeth asked, a pinch of the meat stopping a few inches from her mouth. "Oh, yeah. Looks like I have a job."

She downed the pinch of meat, her face screwing up as she chewed it, before reaching for… _was that whipping cream_?

Alton stammered, his incredulity killing the congratulatory words in his mouth. Who just _eats_ sandwich meat? Why the odd reaction after she ate it? Why was she still eating with her dark gloves on?

"C- Congratulations." Alton finally replied, watching his new coworker take a quick slug of the small carton- which _definitely did say whipping cream_, now that he'd double-checked. Alton could feel his arteries clogging sympathetically. A bit of the cream clung to her upper lip as Elizabeth reached down, peeling open the banana and grabbing a bite. At least _that_ was normal.

Perplexed, Alton glanced around floor two for any hidden cameras or drones he hadn't noticed. Either he lived in a David Lynch film, or somebody had put Elizabeth up to a weird prank.

What was _with_ this girl?

* * *

**They say write what you know. I like food. Trinitite likes food. It's always nice when you can relate to your characters.**

**On a less sarcastic note, I hope the first part of the chapter wrapped up the loose ends of the Breaker Coolant adventure well enough. I don't really plan on expanding on Lee's ultimate fate, as at the moment that feels pretty irrelevant. Trinitite's officially hired now (although she's not legally employed), so that's cool.**

**I'm going to have more time over the college semester than I would have liked, due to technical issues, but I guess that's good news for all of you. Here's to a fun conversation next chapter! At least, it should be fun. It'll be good dialogue practice for me, at least. **


End file.
